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Dinner
Dec 18, 2008 16:20:27 GMT -8
Post by nykolas on Dec 18, 2008 16:20:27 GMT -8
Nykolas eased the truck into a parking space and stepped out of it. He clicked the keyless entry remote and the horn chirped once. His sensitive ears also picked up the sound of steel bolts locking the doors even further. He was wearing an Armani suit and shoes, the suit was black with a green tie and silver vest while the shoes were also black, and shined like a mirror. He adjusted the .45 Springfield XD on his left side, making sure it was there for an easy draw. He walked calmly to the the Ringside Steakhouse and got a table. He scrawled on a notepad quickly, writing down his order of a rare steak, potato, and a glass of scotch. He sipped the scotch slowly, taking in the environment and the people. He was by no means overdressed for this crowd, just another suit in the crowd, however he felt that he was probably the biggest in the room if push came to shove.
He waited calmly, hands folded as he considered his current position. His last client had paid an exorbitant amount for his services, including a bonus when Nyk pulled him out of a crowd of protesters and got him away safely. He was so far satisfied with his life, well, most of it. His steak came and he ate quickly, his intent was to go and enjoy the bar, perhaps find a prospecting client among the rich and ignorant around here. He finished the meal and payed for it, walking calmly to the bar, grabbing a seat and ordering another scotch.
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Delilah Sterling
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Dinner
Dec 18, 2008 17:14:23 GMT -8
Post by Delilah Sterling on Dec 18, 2008 17:14:23 GMT -8
You can only sit on a hard wrought-iron chair outside a Starbucks for so long before A.) you start getting weird looks from the establishment, B.) you start getting strange looks from the people who have walked by you more than once, and C.) your behind could rival a well-used pin cushion on the numbness scale.
Having had three apple ciders and two pumpkin scones, the only eventful thing she'd seen all day was a mother who, in the midst of performing a balancing act with a cell phone, a formidable purse, a plethora of shopping bags and an umbrella, sweep her screaming toddler by the wrist and swat him one with the umbrella, all the while talking nonchalantly on the phone crammed against her shoulder.
Who said women couldn't walk and chew bubblegum at the same time, again?
By sunset, though, she still hadn't seen a demon. Fair enough. Maybe the demons this close to Washington were sick of Starbucks and banded together in a vow to buy their coffee elsewhere.
Day 1 was a failure, but Portland was a major city. There had to be an Underground here, she was sure of it. S0, calling it a day, she hoofed it back to her parking spot lightyears away, trying to avoid brushing into anybody on the busy sidewalk.
On her way back to the hotel, which also seemed lightyears away, her stomach started grumbling the La Cucaracha.
"Alright," she muttered to her stomach as she turned down the volume on Shiny Toy Guns, "but no McDonald's."
She'd been talking to herself a lot, since David was gone.
He probably would have gotten a kick out of the La Cucaracha image, though.
She passed by any number of restaurants, but nothing really tickled her fancy until she saw a sign for Ringside Steakhouse. She could go for a steak.
Her stomach growled its approval.
Blasting the 'Guns again, she maneuvered her way through the cross-streets and backtracked to where the restaurant was, steering the Saturn into the closest parking space.
The rush of warmth that hit her when she opened the door was welcome, but not as welcome as the smell of grilled dead cow.
"Hello, will there be anyone else joining you this evening?"
"Just me."
"It will be a ten minute wait for a table, but if you'd like, you can order at the bar."
That sounded fine. The hostess handed her a menu and gestured her towards the bar, where Delilah planned on ordering the most expensive steak on the menu.
Her jaw nearly dropped when she realized the most expensive steak in the restaurant wasn't on the menu. It was not, in fact, even cooked yet.
Let's face it. No matter how many times you see a demon's true form wavering there beneath their Guise, you never really get used to the first time you see a new demon.
And, again, let's face it - how many times have you seen a polar bear seated casually at the bar with a glass of scotch?
So, no one could blame her for the startled look, the quick head shake, then the double-take and jaw-drop in rapid succession. Snapping her mouth shut, she turned her head so she wasn't staring directly at it, but was still able to see the bear-man from her peripheral as she sat down to order.
She'd watch him for a minute. She wasn't like David, who'd go right up and speak to other demons. He'd felt a kinship with them, perhaps; but she was just like a kid with a pair of x-ray glasses who could see all the extra stuff in the comic book - she wasn't a character in the plot.
So she sat, she ordered, and from the corner of her eye, she watched.
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Dinner
Dec 18, 2008 17:30:22 GMT -8
Post by nykolas on Dec 18, 2008 17:30:22 GMT -8
Nykolas noticed every patron as they entered, it was his job to do such things and he couldn't turn it off. Sighing he left his card with the bartender, explaining to him with a note he handed with it that he was stepping out for a cigarette and would be right back.
He pulled the worn pack of Malboro Reds out of his pants pocket and light one with his Zippo lighter. A homeless man stumbled past, asking Nyk for change, Nyk moved the man along, slipping a 20 dollar bill into the guy's pocket before taking a drag off the coffin nail. He started smoking in Afghanistan awhile ago, god...had it already been that long?
He zoned out for a moment, staring off into space as he remembered the goings on while he was in the Marines. The flash of the muzzle of his M4 when they raided house after house to control Baghdad.
His Sergeant taking a 7.62 round to the throat on the last convoy, the convoy where Nyk won his own Sergeant stripes. The day they knocked down a house door and the place exploded. It was like he had been struck by a god. He still had some of the shrapnel in his right leg, left there by doctors who couldn't remove it.
He came to when he tossed down his cigarette, a tear running down his face while he collected himself. Wiping the tear away he sighed and walked back into the restaurant and back to his drink. He noticed the girl watching him and smiled, letting his eyes change to that wintery blue as he looked her in the eye.
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Delilah Sterling
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Dinner
Dec 18, 2008 17:43:02 GMT -8
Post by Delilah Sterling on Dec 18, 2008 17:43:02 GMT -8
She ordered a coke on the rocks with a shot of Jameson's on the side when the polar bear left. While the polar bear was gone, she knocked back two shots of the stuff, grimacing. One for herself, one for David.
She wasn't expecting the demon to come back, but lo and behold, he did. Smelling of smoke, the polar bear smiled at her.
Well, correction. The man's mouth smiled at her over a set of very large, very sharp, very impressive teeth.
Delilah pretended not to notice - ordered another shot of Jameson's. The bartender looked mildly concerned - her food hadn't even shown up yet and she was already consuming more than her body could handle per hour - but she nodded encouragingly at him, as though to say, 'atta'boy' and he just shrugged.
Third shot's the charm, or at least it was in this case. Taking a deep breath (as well as a long drink of the soda to stop herself from grimacing), she swiveled her stool around to face the polar bear.
"Hi," she said, then, before he could answer, "listen, do you mind coming over here so we can talk for a second?"
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Dinner
Dec 18, 2008 17:55:16 GMT -8
Post by nykolas on Dec 18, 2008 17:55:16 GMT -8
Nykolas polished off his fifth glass of scotch. The 20 year old Glenlivet was smooth, and the bartender was getting really concerned at the amount Nyk put away. The man was just telling him to take it a little easier when the girl came up to him. He was wondering how long it would take until she did.
He readjusted his ponytail and kept the long red locks out of his eyes and nodded at her. He collected another glass of scotch from the bartender and followed her.
He pulled out his pen and quickly wrote to her that he couldn't talk, and that he would communicate with her via the notepad.
He sat back, prefering to lean back instead of his normal rod straight posture, knowing it would seem less threatening.
He sipped the scotch and waited for her to begin.
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Delilah Sterling
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Dinner
Dec 18, 2008 18:07:28 GMT -8
Post by Delilah Sterling on Dec 18, 2008 18:07:28 GMT -8
Right about the time a waitress was handing a plate heaped with steamed vegetables, sauteed mushrooms and a sizzling steak, the demon slid a notepad over to her.
At first, she thought he was just toying with her, wanting her to look at some silly picture or something.
The waiter bombarded her with lots of tiny questions, preventing her from reading what the demon had written right away.
"Do you need any steak sauces?"
"No, thank you."
"Salt? Pepper?"
"No, thanks."
"Refill on your soda?"
"Uh... no, but thank you."
He opened his mouth - probably to ask if she wanted her ice any colder - but she quickly spoke again to cut him off.
"Really, I appreciate it, but I'm set. It looks great."
The bartender finally went off to offer his excellent service elsewhere, giving her the privacy to look at the notepad. She read what he wrote twice because it just seemed absurd to her.
A huge, hulking man who was really a polar bear was sitting next to her in a bar - that alone was the stuff jokes were made of - sipping scotch and telling her via notepad that he was mute.
Serenity now, insanity later. Serenity now, insanity later. Serenity now...
"Okay," she breathed out finally. "I can see you," she said, passing the notepad back to him.
"I'm not from here, though, and I need to go... Underground. Do you know what I'm saying?"
He might have trouble understanding her, after all - she was talking through a mouthful of steak.
Hey, the poor girl was hungry!
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Dinner
Dec 18, 2008 18:18:57 GMT -8
Post by nykolas on Dec 18, 2008 18:18:57 GMT -8
He looked at her. Sizing her up. He didn't know what ''Underground'' meant, unless she needed a mine?
He said so in a message to her, he had just moved here and hadn't been a free man for a long time, most things were new to him.
He looked at her and wrote something else. ''Why can you see me?'' the message read. He was honestly confused about what was going on around here. He just knew that he was different than most people, something he hated beyond belief. He had moved to Portland for work, not whatever she was talking about, he got a funny feeling that something not quite centered was going on here.
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Delilah Sterling
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Dinner
Dec 18, 2008 18:34:40 GMT -8
Post by Delilah Sterling on Dec 18, 2008 18:34:40 GMT -8
She waited eagerly for him to finish writing, so hopeful that he would answer her questions, that he would know where to take her, who to go to; when he handed the pad back over to her, she could barely wait to read what he had to say.
Delilah was a fast reader. It didn't take long for that hope to crash and shatter into so many slivers of disappointment.
"Oh," she said, by means of voicing that disappointment. And then again, softer this time. "Oh.."
Well, it wasn't his fault, was it? He was new to town like she was, maybe he was new to others of his kind. He probably had as many questions as she did.
Laying the pad back down in front of him, she raked her fingers through dyed strands, looking a little lost.
Then, instead of speaking, she took the pad, grabbed a pen from the bar, and wrote back.
My name is Delilah. I'm from New Mexico. When I was twelve, I learned that I could see people for what they really are. I mean to say, people that aren't REALLY people. People like you.
She paused to reflect on what she had written and inwardly rolled her eyes. Redundancy much? She shrugged and continued.
I was scared of the people who weren't really people (re-dun-dant!) until I met one. He told me that in large cities, these 'demons' group together in a sort of secret society. He called it the Underground. Only someone, or something, is hunting down these people. That, or they're chasing me and killing all these demons just because they can. I need to find the Underground here in Portland and warn them. Will you help me?
Pausing, she bit her lip, then pushed the pad back to him, watching him read with worried eyes.
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Dinner
Dec 18, 2008 18:40:50 GMT -8
Post by nykolas on Dec 18, 2008 18:40:50 GMT -8
He read it twice, making sure he took it all in before making a decision. He wrote purposefully and careful in a tight cursive.
''My name is Nykolas Sturgov, I am a Bodyguard by trade, and a retired Marine. I do not know what is hunting you, but they had better come loaded for ''bear'' so to speak if they intend to kill me for being....what I am. I will help you as much as I can, but I do not know Portland, having only been here for a few hours.''
He smiled and handed it to her before finished his scotch and sighing aloud. He needed a cigarette and was certain that this job was only going to lead to trouble.
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Delilah Sterling
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Dinner
Dec 18, 2008 18:51:58 GMT -8
Post by Delilah Sterling on Dec 18, 2008 18:51:58 GMT -8
She didn't answer him right away, but instead read over his words twice. They were oddly comforting, though she wasn't sure why. She didn't usually want to trust people - that was David's forte. But something about this big, quiet bear was... well, it just set alright with her.
Maybe because it was hard to imagine anything could hurt this creature like so many had been harmed in those other cities.
Looking up at him, she let her face break into the first real smile she'd felt in weeks. "Nice to meet you, Nykolas."
She took the pen and paper again, but this time, she spoke as she wrote. "This is the hotel I'm staying at, phone number and room number. I need to get some sleep; tomorrow I'm going to go look for more like you. Do you have a number I can reach you at if I find someone?"
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Dinner
Dec 18, 2008 18:59:39 GMT -8
Post by nykolas on Dec 18, 2008 18:59:39 GMT -8
He considered her and wrote down his cell number. He then added a note to the bottom
''When I answer I will cough into the mic, and then you can start talking. I can pick you up if you need me to. My vehicle is the safest as I can imagine. Years of being in constant threat have taught me a thing or two.''
He smiled back at her and stood, leaving his money to cover his bill he stepped outside ahead of her, willing to wait as he smoked.
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Delilah Sterling
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Dinner
Dec 18, 2008 19:09:08 GMT -8
Post by Delilah Sterling on Dec 18, 2008 19:09:08 GMT -8
Well, she hadn't even thought of that, how a mute person would conduct a phone 'conversation.'
In fact, she wondered, was there a more politically correct term for mute? Everyone was so up-in-arms these days - not fat, just big boned, not handicapped but impaired - hmm.
Maybe she should begin mentally referring to him as Sir Vocally Challenged.
Bit long winded. Nykolas would have to do.
Taking the scrap of paper, she folded it and tucked it into her back pocket as he paid and walked outside. Somewhere during their half written conversation, she'd lost the majority of her appetite. Per her request, the bartender brought a to-go box (or would that be a Locationally Indecisive Box?) and five minutes later, she stood up.
Only to sway a little.
Maybe the third shot on an empty stomach wasn't such a grand idea... stuffing her keys in her pocket with her free hand, she navigated her way outside and saw Nykolas, his faces illuminated in orange light from the tip of his cigarette.
"I'll call you if I find anyone."
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Dinner
Dec 18, 2008 19:25:17 GMT -8
Post by nykolas on Dec 18, 2008 19:25:17 GMT -8
He nodded and walked her to her car silently. He made sure she left safely and walked to his own truck. A group of young punks followed him into the car park and when he got to his car accosted him.
''Hey man, that's a nice car you got there, gimme the keys!''
Nykolas turned around and the head of the gang had a switchblade out and ready, almost as if he knew how to use it. Nyk looked around and made sure no one was around.
''You didn't hear me? I said GIMME THE KEYS!"
Nyk strode forward a step and grasped the kids hand with his own even larger hand. He squeezed hard, hearing bones pop and snap, and lifted him off the ground. He squeezed even harder and the knife dropped from the crushed hand. Nyk shook his head and dropped the kid. The other punks made as if to rush him and he opened his mouth wide, a blood curdling roar poured forth and he continued it as long as it took for the punks to run away. He had apparently set off a car alarm within the garage and quickly got into his truck, starting it and driving home.
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Delilah Sterling
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Dinner
Dec 21, 2008 19:55:58 GMT -8
Post by Delilah Sterling on Dec 21, 2008 19:55:58 GMT -8
(This thread ended and picked up the next day on a new thread. Thank you for reading, this thread is now closed!)
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