Be it out of ignorance or willful blindness, Carbon seemed oblivious to the extraordinary efforts of the imp to buddy up right away. It was certainly not too out of the ordinary, as they were a being of power and a certain level of influence, and that was often enough to warrant a certain tone and manner to be offered. However, while they apparently humoured this in good spirits, they knew better than to drop their guard completely just yet. A lot had happened.
However, seeing as it was now, here stood an imp that obviously had a skillful hand in an established business, and not a simple puppetshow to trap gullible roadside visitors. For that, cinnamon drinks were just a tad too specific to have in the back drawers. Which was why they indulged in yet another long sip, only for the long tongue to snatch one of the ice chunks to crush between strong jaws as they chewed it with gusto as their fingers danced in the air. -I do not wish to force you to learn it just for my comfort.-
Swallowing, they wiped their mouth and smiled again as the collection was spread out for them to marvel over. Which they dutifully did with a soft crooning sound that almost could be mistaken for a hellhound’s growl, but only almost.
“I did not…think, such a variety exists. Usually I, make my own, with cinnamon sticks and basic liquor. And spices. I like…spices.” Playing with the rim of their half-finished drink, the devil hums and the topmost couple of eyes closed for a slow blink that was later repeated by the middle row and eventually the main pair. -Is this charming host trying to get a poor demon drunk?- And they giggled softly. -I will happily have another glass, but you do not need to gift them to me.- And with that, the glass was lifted and the tipped their head back to finish the rest in one go, so Striker had an empty glass to refill.
“I will, be back to, rid you of those unwanted drinks, one by…one.” They certainly had the money, so why not? “Well then, what does a resident of, Wrath, like yourself, enjoy to wet their throat with?”
Striker listened more than he spoke as he watched the large patron partake in the drink, they were a curiosity that he couldn’t rightly stop thinking about, evidently marred with a lot of history behind them and lucifer knew what baggage. Even if he wasn’t going to be able to capture their interest in getting friendly enough to help each other out if he needed them, he’d at least decide to focus on making things a little easier for them.
He smiled as broadly as always, interested in hearing they actually made some drinks themselves with spices, not many knew they could do that and even few did it with the fact it took time to do, he was himself rather proficient with wine, but now imagined expanding his work to make custom wrath liquors too.
-Comfortably drunk enough to smile- He signed back before pouring another glass, returning the other bottles to their storage spot, but at the front of the other ones, feeling confident he’d not get asked for any other flavor before their return to the saloon.
“Ah myself enjoy water, rarely drink as ah sort of get overwhelmed with all the smells and flavors in the bar, but at the core ah sometimes relax in mah office with a whiskey and smoke, tend to go mulled wine at times, but only when ah am entertaining uh...guests.” He’d smile more to himself than to Carbon, he did drink mulled wine whenever he was trying to get cozy with someone, though this was becoming a rare occurrence as of late.
“If ya don’t mind me askin’, what do ya work with? Recon a big fellah like yaself might have some sort of business ya keep runnin’, hardly imagine ya working with all those hands, even though ya look strong enough ta’ rip mah bar counter in half with those arms of yours.”
“And apparently the best grab asses around as well, hmm?”
He hummed a chuckle with a raised brow.
Yeah Striker, he’s still a little salty… But stleast he will let you be unmarked… For now.
“Ah yes, I do suppose wine does pair well with a gine steak— sure, I could go gor a glass.”
.
“Heheh, the best indeed...” He managed to smile even though he could feel a bit of the saltiness of their voice on it. He wasn’t going to comment any further as he was now working on the mulled wine and bring up a bottle labeled -Spider Venom-, a name purely decorative due to the pattern of the sugar crystals forming on the glass bottle and the surface of it as he poured a glass out for them.
A fruity scent of berries and a tart taste mixed with a sweet sugary aftertaste to it. The sugar crystals breaking upon impact as if made out of the thinnest paper and melting without hesitation. A creation of the saloon and it’s owner, one he was proud of.
“Hope ya enjoy, always happy ta’ make any customer pleased with my services.”
it was a rare day when the saloon would get almost empty, it was a dry season as even the rooms usually rented out to shift workers or seasonal folk had gone home for the months ahead. He pondered about closing the saloon for the night as for some time it’s been silent at nights, it would free up some time for him to do other activities, but as soon as the thought entered into his mind, the knock on the door sent it away.
Opening the door he was rather surprised at the sight of someone so out of place for Wrath, it didn’t take long before hearing her explanation before he’d open the door for her and hold a hand over to the bar. “No worries mam, got a fair few non-alcoholic drinks, just have a seat and say what ya like. Think ya friends might be long or ya ditchin’ em? Got rooms here for ya as well, it’s rather dangerous ta’ venture out this late at night alone.”
If it was a blessing or not, he wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, Striker had to keep working the place for as long as someone was here, and he wasn’t about to toss someone out without reason, especially since they were so kind and careful when first meeting. He’d position himself behind the counter, leaning on it some as he smiled. “So, what do ya want ta’ drink?”
Her movements haven't lost their fluidity yet, but she could sense the future effects of the damned dehydration nearing. The Pride ring was still somewhat an unfamiliar hunting ground, thankfully she excelled in adapting and evolving. Streetlights bounced off her clothes, the vinyl fabric even more radiant, crystal gloves scattered the light into every direction possible. Vivid emerald eyes studied the western themed saloon, scanning leaving demons, all too drunk for their blood to satisfy her thirst.
But the owner...from distance she couldn't figure out whenever he was a snake demon or an imp hybrid but she could perfectly see he was sober.
So the predator waited near closing time, enduring the gazes with the tiniest cold grin sitting on her lips;
oh if they had the faintest idea...
The crowd lessened until the remaining was also prodded towards the exit, and she made her move. She walked as if she was swimming, light on her feet, the only evidence that she wasn't floating was the fast click of her heels.
She gently knocked on the saloon door, wearing her kindest smile, oppressing the hunger a little longer.
“Excuse me for disturbing when you're about to close, I'm not familiar with this ring. I'm from Envy and my friends disappeared in a club, do you happen to have anything...non alcoholic? If it's not a problem, of course.” they say the best lie is the one which is half true
Her rough accent could be passed as an envy dialect; she waited patiently for the answer, she could work with both scenarios, although the breaking in possibility was less smooth and more likely to leave evidence.
“Coffee’s good. Chili this early, not such a good idea. I’d have brought eggs if I thought I could keep them safe.” Flora slithered out of the tent and stretched, wriggling around on the ground like a worm. That done, she watched as Striker got started on the coffee.
Sage got out and did some stretches as well, though unlike Flora, she took her time to stretch her arms and legs, doing slow, careful exercises. “Yeah, I’ll take some coffee. And I ain’t about to touch that chili again unless it’s all we got. Rather we eat what we kill.” The croc sat by Striker and reached out to her toes, letting out a few satisfied grunts. “Now, I heard rumors about cowboy coffee… heard they like it both thick an’ black as tar, an’ that they had biscuits so tough, they’d break your teeth unless you dunked ‘em in the coffee first. ‘Course, those were just stories, but how’s your coffee?”
Striker was halfway to tipping the whole box of coffee grounds into the can, but reached in to take the spoon and add a decent amount into the can. “Oh.. uh yeah, no that’s just urban tales, though the biscuits are like hardtack only when ah travel a long while and can’t chance goin’ into towns.” He’d eye both Flora and Sage’s morning routines and how they stretched, enjoying the view of a morning well deserved for all of them.
This time however he had brought a treat, he had made a batch of cowboy cookies the night before they went out, thinking it would be nice to show off his simple, yet knowledgeable of the culinary arts. Bringing the tin out and opening so they’d get a tasty start on the day, having made quite a batch knowing Flora’s usual apatite.
“Them cookies are mighty tasty and far from tooth-crushin’, and bet will fill ya well for a little bit of huntin’ and cookin’, would take most of the day ta’ prep the boar meat, just depends if we want steak or stew really.” He had brought ingredients to tenderize the meat, usually using pineapple to soften the meat, but he hardly had the necessary tools out here. “And if it goes well, ya can get a mighty fine trophy of a hellboar skull ta’ hang on a wall if ya so desire.”
“ SEE??? That’s the spirit ! ” the jester grinned widely. “ I’m sure we can mix up an outfit you can even keep your little bandanna.”
The jester hummed, tail giving a small flick. Seeing the cowboy like this, made his self-conscious a bit ridiculous - especially in contrast to his usual bold and confident attitude.
Not that it was much of concern to them - or at the very least it shouldn’t be.
“ boots are easssy, there you can look for ya self. lots of different sizes and shapes.” and this was an aspect of outfits Fizz tried not to look too much into. Their artificial feet are very much like high heel boots, so it isn’t like they need - or can wear shoes.
A bit of a shame.
With a whistle, the jester took a look a some of the hats, fedoras, simply but fitting, also beanies Striker either needs ehm with holes or a big one to put the horns under.
Striker’s mood changed quickly after checking himself out in the mirror, he had confidence before because he knew himself and what he wore, he’d been doing so for years and it was the regularity and familiarity of it that made him feel secure in himself, being anything other than a cowboy did make him feel a bit odd, made his mind think of fake personas to adopt for it, but for once he managed to break out of the regular mindset and see himself not as a saloon owner nor an assassin and just as simple, imp striker.
The boots did take a bit longer to figure out, his own feet being a bit different than other imps had made it a difficult thing, but he did manage to find some nice boots, the inserts from his cowboy ones fitting properly into them and he’d even go over and snag a nice pair of dark blue jeans to match the black boots.
Striker had taken off the bandana, at least for now. Standing only in the clothing that’s been picked out in the store for him and strode over to Fizzarolli. It took a bit of getting used to the boots, but he mastered walking in them inside the store at least. He’d even snagged some fingerless gloves, a favorite of himself as his claws always managed to poke holes in anything covering them, and it did feel nice to have something form fitting, even the pants hugged his legs,
“What ya think Fizz? Lookin’ like a different imp all together and feels almost like it too.” He’d eye the hats, looking a bit curious as he’d wonder if they’d even fit the clothing he had on. “Ya think a hat would look good or?”
His natural hair was near white, flowing and poufy, even hiding underneath a hat didn’t wrestle the style of a messy hairdo.
Baxter thinks for a moment then replies, “Alright, tell me about yourself, Strike. I want to know whatever you’re comfortable telling me about you! Your hopes, talents, hobbies… whatever!”
He then clears his throat before drinking more, “F-for business purposes, of course. N-nothing more at the moment.”
Striker blinked as he’d look at them curiously and a short chuckle escaped him before he answered. “Oh come now Baxter, ya wantin’ me to start spoutin’ off for a few hours so ya can write my biography?” He’d take a deep sigh and look like he was trying to search his mind to best formulate an answer to fit the question.
“Hmm... Well, Ah hope to reform hell by killin’ all the overlords and royal fucks that abuse and use mah kind as playthings. Mah hobbies are guitar, piano, campin’ and drinkin’ as well as bein’ a shameless flirt.” He’d contemplate continuing on but he was not going to give every little detail just like that. “Can say ah do enjoy lookin’ at cute things, it relaxes my eyes.” He’d say so while obviously staring at Baxter, the shameless flirting part shining through.
“How about ya ask me a proper question and ah might give ya the answer ya’d want. But that aside, how did ya started gettin’ into the science business.”
“Hard workin gentleman, huh?” Semistrea muses, taking another large gulp of wine. Humming contently, they know he’s not telling all, but why should he? He doesn’t know them from Adam….or maybe Cain in this instance. Semistrea is keeping their secrets too of course.
“Do you work with others? Ever brush elbows with a big wig?”
Lifting up a finger and waggling it as he’d have a impish grin on his face. “Easy now there pardner, ah don’t mind ya askin’ me plenty o’ questions, but don’t forget to answer mine.” He’d idly move his hand to play with his mustache as he’d answer still. “Ah work alone, this place is all mine, and yeah, ya can say ah regularly come in contact with folk that most down here wouldn’t be able ta’ see in a thousand years.”
“So, how about it, ya down here in Hell by ya lonesome or you got friend with ya? And add on what ya plans are fer bein’ down here.”
“Please, I’ve already found my place. Don’t get me wrong, my leadership skills are unparalleled, but I’d rather keep ruling my social empire than an actual one.” Mostly because there’s more power in it anyways, and a much lower chance of revolution against her, but she won’t voice that sentiment.
She waves away the notion with a hand. “We can worry about that when the time comes. Don’t count your chickens before they hatch and all.”
“Now, more onto business. I’m not one to be particularly picky about who you choose to go after.”
(A strange way to say she doesn’t feel very merciful.)
“But, there is one family I want you to avoid. Stella, Stolas and, most importantly, their daughter, Octavia. She’s still just a kid, doesn’t deserve to be caught up in this mess. Do what you will with anyone and everyone else but if something happens and any of them make trouble, get in the way of things, whatever, I’ll be the one to handle it. Understood?”
Striker had already some run-ins with the Goetia family, though his thoughts on the matter felt that there were more in-fighting than anything else, he’d not see an issue if Hellsa were to take care of whatever disputes cropped up with them. He’d be happy to not worry about Stella screaming at him to kill her husband anymore, having been giving her the deaf ear for some time now.
“Ain’t no problem, been writin’ those folk off as barely a threat, and ah don’t kill kids, ya might be surprised ta’ know ah have morals and standards even with all the things ah do.”
His usual clientele had very little animosity against other royals, most of his kills going for overlords, even his own ambitions sent him far from the Goetians. “Since ya seem ta’ take an interest in em, ah can keep an eye out for any contracts after em, if ya’d like.” What their plans were for the family was beyond the cowboy’s understanding, but he’d always go after an opportunity for favors to be held and used if possible.
"awrite, dis dhit ain't funny-- where's da damn key, Striker?"
@kiss-thiss-niss
(changed the wording to match his character xP)
Send “It’s not funny anymore, where’s the key?” for our muses to be handcuffed together, unable to break free
“Oh, the key? Yeah it’s back in mah office, not sure where but do ya wanna come back and look for it with me?” He’d chuckle, granted it was only one of many MANY hands that he managed to cuff himself to, but he was intending on keeping the spider besides him for a spell... Even though this plan only came to when he realized he had actually forgotten the key at home, and the fact he’d need a lot more cuffs to get the spider properly bound.
“Can switch these out for fuzzy ones too if ya’d prefer that.”
“It’s not funny anymore, where’s the key?” (Blitzo owo)
Send “It’s not funny anymore, where’s the key?” for our muses to be handcuffed together, unable to break free
“Ehehe, just uh...one second.” The key WERE around here somewhere, but if he had put it in his pocket and it having dropped out through a hole was a possibility. He had a spiel to play out like arresting Blitzo, but now the gag had run it’s course he’d end up just smiling at them.
"Ya don’t happen to have a spare key do ya? You got handcuffs like these at ya office right?”
Striker, you'd best keep an eye out. Honeybear or one of her contacts is probably going to try to capture you and bring you in for 'fostering.'
"Oh how lovely would it be if someone tried ta' catch me, spares me the time and energy ta' find them... Ah got a place ta' store em fer questioning, and ah would be in my fair right considerin' folk tryin' ta' kidnap me ain't folk that would find sympathy with the other folk in town."
“Lookin’ good in a collar and bein’ traded ta’ be someone’s obedient pet ain’t rightly the same thing. While ya on a leash would be sexy, what they want would be a good doggy ta’ follow orders and behave and not cause trouble, acting like we ain’t more than beasts to them... Ah ain’t rightly gonna accept that reality one bit.”
"Makin imps into pets? Now boy howdy ah gonna keep an eye on those folk that buy em. If ah kill enough of em, perhaps folk realize the deadly nature ta turnin' mah kind into playthings."
Beware. This little guy may reveal to onlookers that you’ve been on this hellsite (affectionate) since day one while holding all the objects you carry.
100% heavy cotton canvas. Ready to ship in mid-March.
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