05-26-2018, 06:49 PM
(This post was last modified: 06-01-2018, 10:24 AM by Bandit With No Name.)
In its earlier iteration, Rick’s Café Americain had been an upper class place for upper class people. It was respected, and exclusive, and most importantly: it was expensive. Finely dressed sirs and madams had wandered its halls in fine suits and elegant dresses. The patrons would laugh politely and talk, and even on wild nights you could trust every one of them to do their best to maintain a level of demeanor. Not as much these days.
The Café, or rather the “bar” as the people of Carrefore insisted on referring to it, still had its wait staff in vests and suit jackets. Upbeat but respectable jazz still played in the background. And while there were no Nazis trying to overrun the place, it was filled with miscreants and one of the closest things the Omniverse had to Nazis: Imperial Troopers. While it wasn’t a wretched hive of villainy, it wasn’t the cordial, stately place it had once been. Therefore, it wasn’t much of a shock when a towering woman barged through the door wearing glowing, heavy plate armor with a gigantic hammer strapped to her back.
“Holy shit,” she gasped, “this place is amazing!”
A short, skinny woman with bright pink hair and grease stained overalls followed after her. “Wow!” she beamed, “This place is so well constructed! Look at all the detail! And the object layers! It must have taken so much omnilium to get this place up and working!”
“And look at all this fancy glass shit,” the bulldozer of a human noted, “They have to have amazing security to keep this place intact. We only ever used metal cups ‘cause you’d never keep glass in one piece for longer than a few hours.”
Caret beamed, “And like, hardly any of these people are armed!” She pointed to the bartender, garnering a concerned look. “The guy with the goods doesn’t even have any armor! You could just shoot him in the face and take all his fancy booze. That’s amazing.”
The had-been raider blinked as a server walked directly in front of her, food and drinks held high as he bussed them to a table. “And they just like… trust you to not take their food while they’re walking around with it? These people fuckin’ spoiled.”
“For real,” Caret concurred. “Well, uh, you wanna get some fancy people food?”
“Hell yeah,” the nameless woman said with a grin and a nod.
The walked up to the counter of the bar, gathering some sideways glances as they did so. The bandit plopped down with a rattle and Caret stepped over the stool and perched on it like a small bird. “Yo, uh, bar dude!” Caret shouted, waving at him. “Give me some booze!”
The man condescended to walk over to them, his greased back hair and thin pencil mustache catching a bit of light from the overhead crystal chandelier. “How may I help you?” he scoffed.
“Like I said, booze please,” Caret said, having lost none of her enthusiasm.
The nameless woman lifted her hand, “Me too.”
The bartender stared at them for a moment, then half turned and looked at the literal wall of liquor and the beer taps below it. He then turned back to them. “Ah. And what kind would you like?”
“Uhhh,” Caret stalled, then looked to her compatriot. “What do I get?”
Quickly glancing over her options, the woman squinted. “What were these made in? I don’t want anything from a barrel. It always still tastes like guzzoline.”
As the barback opened his mouth, presumably to have them removed from the premises, a towering, graceful woman stepped up beside them and simply stated, “They will both have your house lager, barkeep. Thank you.” She slid a glimmering bit of omnilium onto the bar, which the tender snatched instantly with a sly smirk.
The pair looked to the woman that loomed over them. She was thin, inhumanly proportioned, and her clothes were certainly non-standard for the dunes. Sleek and form fitting wine red dress that split on both sides, with a few silver runes stitched along its centerline. A single, bright red, oval crystal was set into the sternum of her clothing, gleaming with an oddly reflective surface. A strange, opalescent white material arched up the sides of her neck and curled around the edge of her chin. Perhaps the most striking feature she wore was her two, large, pointed ears that extended well beyond the peak of her head. Long, sleek black hair tumbled around them, cascading from a high ponytail on the rear of the crown of her head.
“Balanlara of the Altansar,” she said, her words somehow echoing ethereally. She extended her delicate hand to Caret, who took it up gingerly. “I empathize with being out of your element.”
“I, uh, I don’t have a name,” the woman replied awkwardly, still staring.
Caret grinned wide and shook her hand softly. “And I’m Caret.”
Peacefully Balanlara smiled and nodded. “It is good to meet you.” She gestured fluidly to a seat beside them. “May I sit with you?”
“Yeah, ‘course,” the nameless bandit barked, unable to stop gawking.
“Thank you,” Balanlara replied, even the gentlest of her words hanging in the air like a reverberating string. She glided into the chair effortlessly, her every movement almost seeming to be guided by an unseen breeze.
“Yo, what are you?” the bandit asked, the wonderment of the moment snatching the tiny fragment of tact she had away from her.
Caret elbowed her firmly, “Jeez, at least pretend to not be a jerk!”
Balanlara smirked and politely tittered. “I am an Eldar from the Craftworld Altansar. My people, even from other craftworlds, are exceedingly rare in this universe. Especially in this particular sector of it.” She gently swirled a long flute of light green fluid, which had been unseen until now. “I am actually visiting from Coruscant.”
“I don’t know much about anything else of what you said, but the Coruscant part tracks,” the nameless woman remarked.
Caret wondered unabashedly, “Yeah lady, you are really fancy. What even is that material?” She gestured at the flexible, flowing white shell that surrounded her neck. “It looks like some kind of metal, but it’s moving along with you so easily!”
Balanlara’s fingers ran over the smooth surface of her neck. “This is wraithbone. It is psychically attuned to me. It hardens instantly upon impact, but can move with me. The rest of the suit acts similarly.”
Caret leaned in to get a closer look. “How do you even work with a material like that?”
Balanlara smiled in full, allowing a glimpse at her perfect and slightly pointed teeth. “You sing to it.”
“Holy crap,” the bandit said flatly. “Ya’ll on some crazy shit.”
Genuine laughter bubbled up from Balanlara’s chest, the sound of it seemingly filling the space of the room despite its volume relative to the crowd’s noise. The bartender stepped back and put the two cups down beside the unkempt patrons and quickly whisked himself away. “Try your drinks and then tell me why you’re visiting us, will you?”
The two lifted the soft yellow beer to their lips almost simultaneously and took large swigs. The battle hardened warrior recoiled in horror while Caret’s eyes lit up with shock and joy. The nameless woman all but slammed the drink back down while Caret quickly guzzled down the remainder.
“Ugh fuck, what is this?” the bandit asked in disgust. “It’s like beer but with more water in it!”
“I have no idea, but if you don’t want yours I’ll take it!” Caret happily chimed, then snatched it up without waiting for an answer.
A phantasmal giggle flew from Balanlara, and she waved back to the man behind the bar. “Instead we’ll try… hm. A rye whiskey. Old Overholt.” She turned her attention back to her new friends. “So what brings you into this domain?”
“Just passing through,” the woman replied, practically yanking the small glass of liquor from the snobby man with his vest and tie. She sniffed it cautiously then grinned. “Aha! This is more my speed. Smells like tequila but less… I dunno, tequila-like.” She drank the entire glass, the ice clinking as she shotgunned it all at once. “I don’t know why they wasted ice on this, but otherwise I really like it.”
Balanlara smiled to the barkeep. “Another. Neat.” She craned her neck and focused her brilliant violet eyes. “Where are you headed after this?”
“No real plans after this,” Caret sighed. “Just… away.”
Balanlara nodded. “Yes, I too know what it is to wander. I feel so untethered from everything in this universe. All my memories, everything important to me, seems so far away now. Unreachable.” She took a prolonged sip from her green beverage. “It seems better to simply forget it all now.”
“You a prime?” the bandit asked and took only a moderate gulp from her rye.
Balanlara’s expression seemed lost in an ocean of sadness for a moment, and everyone near her almost believed they could feel it themselves. “No. Even my memories are borrowed from another. A Warp Spider Exarch named Amondiar brought me into this place. I suppose other Eldar was all he knew, and so that is what created in me.”
“We know the feeling,” the haggard raider commiserated. “Well, uh, where you headed?”
Balanlara looked wistfully towards the door. “I was hired on to aid some Imperial patrols, though I have just now finished.”
“Oh wow!” Caret said, already halfway through with her second pint. “That sounds really cool. What did you do? Do you sing them some new armor or something?”
Balanlara smiled softly. “No, I am a Dark Reaper. I aided in long ranged support fire for high density enemy engagements.”
“Holy shit, what? That’s awesome!” the nameless woman said excitedly. “What does that even mean? Are you artillery or something?”
“I employ a psychically attuned missile launcher called a Reaper Launcher. It generates and deploys armor-penetrating, explosive salvos that are still effective at long distances. It is also constructed of wraithbone, and independently tracks my foes, feeding their information to my helm. When I am ready to unleash it, I can see through my weapon, making it very easy for me to aim.” She took another sip from her drink. “Though I cannot employ some of the more sophisticated features of my weapon without my armor, it serves well in any scenario.”
The two badland survivors stared with bewilderment and glee. “That is the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” the nameless woman said, picking her jaw up off of the floor. “I just hit things with a hammer.”
“You seem to be a very effective combatant, nameless one. Do not disparage yourself.” Balanlara gently pointed to the head at her waist. “I do remember watching your contest with Magus.”
She grinned, “Holy shit, you saw that?”
The eldar confirmed wordlessly, and then said, “I managed to catch part of the recording from Coruscant.”
“Well, uh, where are you headed now that you’re done?” Caret asked timidly, putting down her empty glass.
“I had intended to go and witness this year’s Dante’s Abyss tournament. I have enough omnilium to live for at least a short time without working.” The final sip of her drink flowed over her dark lips and she too placed it on the table.
The bandit looked to Caret and shrugged. “I’ve never been. Wanna do it? Go watch?”
“Yeah!” Caret replied emphatically. “That sounds really cool. I’ve never been to any live events where I wasn’t at risk of being brutally murdered. That would be nice.”
She nodded. “It’s settled then.” She turned back and looked to the elder, “Cool if we go with you?”
Balanlara smiled, again showing the rows of barely inhuman teeth. “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”
The Café, or rather the “bar” as the people of Carrefore insisted on referring to it, still had its wait staff in vests and suit jackets. Upbeat but respectable jazz still played in the background. And while there were no Nazis trying to overrun the place, it was filled with miscreants and one of the closest things the Omniverse had to Nazis: Imperial Troopers. While it wasn’t a wretched hive of villainy, it wasn’t the cordial, stately place it had once been. Therefore, it wasn’t much of a shock when a towering woman barged through the door wearing glowing, heavy plate armor with a gigantic hammer strapped to her back.
“Holy shit,” she gasped, “this place is amazing!”
A short, skinny woman with bright pink hair and grease stained overalls followed after her. “Wow!” she beamed, “This place is so well constructed! Look at all the detail! And the object layers! It must have taken so much omnilium to get this place up and working!”
“And look at all this fancy glass shit,” the bulldozer of a human noted, “They have to have amazing security to keep this place intact. We only ever used metal cups ‘cause you’d never keep glass in one piece for longer than a few hours.”
Caret beamed, “And like, hardly any of these people are armed!” She pointed to the bartender, garnering a concerned look. “The guy with the goods doesn’t even have any armor! You could just shoot him in the face and take all his fancy booze. That’s amazing.”
The had-been raider blinked as a server walked directly in front of her, food and drinks held high as he bussed them to a table. “And they just like… trust you to not take their food while they’re walking around with it? These people fuckin’ spoiled.”
“For real,” Caret concurred. “Well, uh, you wanna get some fancy people food?”
“Hell yeah,” the nameless woman said with a grin and a nod.
The walked up to the counter of the bar, gathering some sideways glances as they did so. The bandit plopped down with a rattle and Caret stepped over the stool and perched on it like a small bird. “Yo, uh, bar dude!” Caret shouted, waving at him. “Give me some booze!”
The man condescended to walk over to them, his greased back hair and thin pencil mustache catching a bit of light from the overhead crystal chandelier. “How may I help you?” he scoffed.
“Like I said, booze please,” Caret said, having lost none of her enthusiasm.
The nameless woman lifted her hand, “Me too.”
The bartender stared at them for a moment, then half turned and looked at the literal wall of liquor and the beer taps below it. He then turned back to them. “Ah. And what kind would you like?”
“Uhhh,” Caret stalled, then looked to her compatriot. “What do I get?”
Quickly glancing over her options, the woman squinted. “What were these made in? I don’t want anything from a barrel. It always still tastes like guzzoline.”
As the barback opened his mouth, presumably to have them removed from the premises, a towering, graceful woman stepped up beside them and simply stated, “They will both have your house lager, barkeep. Thank you.” She slid a glimmering bit of omnilium onto the bar, which the tender snatched instantly with a sly smirk.
The pair looked to the woman that loomed over them. She was thin, inhumanly proportioned, and her clothes were certainly non-standard for the dunes. Sleek and form fitting wine red dress that split on both sides, with a few silver runes stitched along its centerline. A single, bright red, oval crystal was set into the sternum of her clothing, gleaming with an oddly reflective surface. A strange, opalescent white material arched up the sides of her neck and curled around the edge of her chin. Perhaps the most striking feature she wore was her two, large, pointed ears that extended well beyond the peak of her head. Long, sleek black hair tumbled around them, cascading from a high ponytail on the rear of the crown of her head.
“Balanlara of the Altansar,” she said, her words somehow echoing ethereally. She extended her delicate hand to Caret, who took it up gingerly. “I empathize with being out of your element.”
“I, uh, I don’t have a name,” the woman replied awkwardly, still staring.
Caret grinned wide and shook her hand softly. “And I’m Caret.”
Peacefully Balanlara smiled and nodded. “It is good to meet you.” She gestured fluidly to a seat beside them. “May I sit with you?”
“Yeah, ‘course,” the nameless bandit barked, unable to stop gawking.
“Thank you,” Balanlara replied, even the gentlest of her words hanging in the air like a reverberating string. She glided into the chair effortlessly, her every movement almost seeming to be guided by an unseen breeze.
“Yo, what are you?” the bandit asked, the wonderment of the moment snatching the tiny fragment of tact she had away from her.
Caret elbowed her firmly, “Jeez, at least pretend to not be a jerk!”
Balanlara smirked and politely tittered. “I am an Eldar from the Craftworld Altansar. My people, even from other craftworlds, are exceedingly rare in this universe. Especially in this particular sector of it.” She gently swirled a long flute of light green fluid, which had been unseen until now. “I am actually visiting from Coruscant.”
“I don’t know much about anything else of what you said, but the Coruscant part tracks,” the nameless woman remarked.
Caret wondered unabashedly, “Yeah lady, you are really fancy. What even is that material?” She gestured at the flexible, flowing white shell that surrounded her neck. “It looks like some kind of metal, but it’s moving along with you so easily!”
Balanlara’s fingers ran over the smooth surface of her neck. “This is wraithbone. It is psychically attuned to me. It hardens instantly upon impact, but can move with me. The rest of the suit acts similarly.”
Caret leaned in to get a closer look. “How do you even work with a material like that?”
Balanlara smiled in full, allowing a glimpse at her perfect and slightly pointed teeth. “You sing to it.”
“Holy crap,” the bandit said flatly. “Ya’ll on some crazy shit.”
Genuine laughter bubbled up from Balanlara’s chest, the sound of it seemingly filling the space of the room despite its volume relative to the crowd’s noise. The bartender stepped back and put the two cups down beside the unkempt patrons and quickly whisked himself away. “Try your drinks and then tell me why you’re visiting us, will you?”
The two lifted the soft yellow beer to their lips almost simultaneously and took large swigs. The battle hardened warrior recoiled in horror while Caret’s eyes lit up with shock and joy. The nameless woman all but slammed the drink back down while Caret quickly guzzled down the remainder.
“Ugh fuck, what is this?” the bandit asked in disgust. “It’s like beer but with more water in it!”
“I have no idea, but if you don’t want yours I’ll take it!” Caret happily chimed, then snatched it up without waiting for an answer.
A phantasmal giggle flew from Balanlara, and she waved back to the man behind the bar. “Instead we’ll try… hm. A rye whiskey. Old Overholt.” She turned her attention back to her new friends. “So what brings you into this domain?”
“Just passing through,” the woman replied, practically yanking the small glass of liquor from the snobby man with his vest and tie. She sniffed it cautiously then grinned. “Aha! This is more my speed. Smells like tequila but less… I dunno, tequila-like.” She drank the entire glass, the ice clinking as she shotgunned it all at once. “I don’t know why they wasted ice on this, but otherwise I really like it.”
Balanlara smiled to the barkeep. “Another. Neat.” She craned her neck and focused her brilliant violet eyes. “Where are you headed after this?”
“No real plans after this,” Caret sighed. “Just… away.”
Balanlara nodded. “Yes, I too know what it is to wander. I feel so untethered from everything in this universe. All my memories, everything important to me, seems so far away now. Unreachable.” She took a prolonged sip from her green beverage. “It seems better to simply forget it all now.”
“You a prime?” the bandit asked and took only a moderate gulp from her rye.
Balanlara’s expression seemed lost in an ocean of sadness for a moment, and everyone near her almost believed they could feel it themselves. “No. Even my memories are borrowed from another. A Warp Spider Exarch named Amondiar brought me into this place. I suppose other Eldar was all he knew, and so that is what created in me.”
“We know the feeling,” the haggard raider commiserated. “Well, uh, where you headed?”
Balanlara looked wistfully towards the door. “I was hired on to aid some Imperial patrols, though I have just now finished.”
“Oh wow!” Caret said, already halfway through with her second pint. “That sounds really cool. What did you do? Do you sing them some new armor or something?”
Balanlara smiled softly. “No, I am a Dark Reaper. I aided in long ranged support fire for high density enemy engagements.”
“Holy shit, what? That’s awesome!” the nameless woman said excitedly. “What does that even mean? Are you artillery or something?”
“I employ a psychically attuned missile launcher called a Reaper Launcher. It generates and deploys armor-penetrating, explosive salvos that are still effective at long distances. It is also constructed of wraithbone, and independently tracks my foes, feeding their information to my helm. When I am ready to unleash it, I can see through my weapon, making it very easy for me to aim.” She took another sip from her drink. “Though I cannot employ some of the more sophisticated features of my weapon without my armor, it serves well in any scenario.”
The two badland survivors stared with bewilderment and glee. “That is the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” the nameless woman said, picking her jaw up off of the floor. “I just hit things with a hammer.”
“You seem to be a very effective combatant, nameless one. Do not disparage yourself.” Balanlara gently pointed to the head at her waist. “I do remember watching your contest with Magus.”
She grinned, “Holy shit, you saw that?”
The eldar confirmed wordlessly, and then said, “I managed to catch part of the recording from Coruscant.”
“Well, uh, where are you headed now that you’re done?” Caret asked timidly, putting down her empty glass.
“I had intended to go and witness this year’s Dante’s Abyss tournament. I have enough omnilium to live for at least a short time without working.” The final sip of her drink flowed over her dark lips and she too placed it on the table.
The bandit looked to Caret and shrugged. “I’ve never been. Wanna do it? Go watch?”
“Yeah!” Caret replied emphatically. “That sounds really cool. I’ve never been to any live events where I wasn’t at risk of being brutally murdered. That would be nice.”
She nodded. “It’s settled then.” She turned back and looked to the elder, “Cool if we go with you?”
Balanlara smiled, again showing the rows of barely inhuman teeth. “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”