Posted Sept. 3, 2018, 10:58 a.m. by Civilian Shari Binns (Wife of HotCoC) (Liam Schoepp)
Posted by Civilian Isaria zh’Thavos (Head of Education and Culture) in Desperation PRISM - A Night on the Bar
OOC: This is open to everyone!
- TrinityIC:
Siryn Venor.
A woman of many names, many talents.. many vendettas. Were these grudges held against the African enigma, or were they of her own creation? That was a truth you would never get from the poisonous tongue of a being who prided herself on her cryptic tongue and riddling ways. Many found her vague phrases to be a source of insanity, for lack of better term. Although, while Siryn would pledge insanity, in court, she was perhaps as sane as it got, viewing the world as a stage, where she had no intentions of being the leading woman. After all, the real magic happens behind the scenes of ever hit theatrical production. And there, dear friends, is where Siyrn wished to be. After all, what better way to rise to the top, then to find your way through the back roads, or perhaps trailblazer your own? These simple, albeit cohesive thoughts worked to create the puzzle of her existence. A puzzle, with missing pieces.
A thin frame wrapped in the rudimentary elegance of a small, black dress, was the attire of the woman without desire to be noticed. Dark skin, kissed by the African sun, added a level of mystery to her features, as fierce, unnaturally amber eyes denoted visual impairment, or what had once been. Yet, even in their debatably authenticity, they seemed to survey the bar with greater care than of those who could see without assistance.
Ah.. the club. It was a flurry of emotions produced by the humanoid hearts of those who decided to pass through it; of hatred to the man who stole his handsome date from him; of amusement for the woman whose legs became mush at the sight of another shot of whiskey; of sadness for the observation of the clock, whose lonesome hands, long replaced by digital numbers, inched towards the night’s conclusion. It was a crockpot of personality, held together by the toxic bottles of alcohol, peering down from their decorative perched upon a wall lit up in the brilliance of pale, neon lights. For many, it was a source of fun. For some, it was home. Home, where the chaos was as thick as the rancid stench of careless content. The club .. ah.
Passing through the metallic threshold, Siryn found herself bombarded by the noise of the rush heightening from its previous seclusion, by the thick walls holding the club together. The heat of the night could be felt against her skin, as people danced along to the beat of contemporary music, their bodies merging together to form a single entity, whose mind was driven by the alcohol tainting their tongues. It was a place of minimal interest for the lady whose mind was set on a single, ulterior motive.
Winding her way through the people, she crossed the club, slipping into an adjacent chamber, where the walls blocked out the intensity of the music whose sound was nearly as irksome as the pestilential people who found themselves dancing along to it.
In a whiff of irritation, Siryn noticed the door separating the bar from the outside world, recognizing her troubles had been of little use, for another entrance had been available to her, right beneath her very nose. So much for trusting the locals, or whatever the nutjobs of this colony call themselves. Oeds? Oedians? I like that. Oedians, that is what I shall call them, now. A nearly complacent grin wove its way to her features, chasing the solemn expression of trained lips away, with the amusement of a newfound nickname.
Slipping to the bar, she lowered herself onto a stool, shrugging the jacket from her shoulders, until it had found a place leaning over the stout back of the leather-based seat. A chilled breeze brushed against her, reminding her of the differences within Oed’s weather, and that of her home in Uganda. “Miungu kubwa, ni baridi!” [Great Gods, it is cold!] Siryn muttered, assuming her soft words would fall upon deaf ears, but she was sadly mistaken.
“Kwa ujumla ni baridi hapa, ndiyo.” [It is generally chilly here, yes.] A charming young man managed to steal her attention, surprising her with his use of Swahili, a language better of extinct, in this region of space. Her dumbfound was apparently amusing, judging by the humorous glimmer dancing within his eyes.
“You speak Swahili?” Siryn asked, as if she had to confirm with him, despite recently hearing him use a phrase of the language. Maybe it was just a source of pride, or individuality, in which she found herself unexpectant of anyone knowing an inkling of the foreign tongue.. her tongue.
“I know many languages,” The man offered her a smile, his pearled, white teeth catching the faint shine of their dimly lit surroundings. The bar, itself, was rather simplistic in design. The floors were a hardwood, their deep, rusted brown resembling what Terrans might recognize as a type of cherrywood. The walls, adorned with words of monochromatic art, were painted a sleek, accented brown, offsetting the white of the ceiling; adding to the modish feel of the modern bar. Unlike the club, the scent of alcohol was replaced with the calm smell of nothingness, beyond the faint hint of vanilla, havingly likely drifted from someone’s plate. “French.. Gaelic.. Vulcan.”
Leaning over the counter, as he spoke, Siryn brushed him away with the flick of a tattooed wrist. “Whiskey, on the rocks.” She quickly changed the subject, dodging the advancements of her male counterpart. Siryn had never been much a woman who found pleasure in the pungency of alcohol, but she did like the flavor, thus, why she went with the ice. It may have robbed some of them flavour, but it did eliminate a portion of that kick, which is what she had been looking for.
Whilst the man tended to her request, Siryn allowed her gaze to sweep the room with great caution. She would not allow her mind to be distracted from her intentions of this lonesome evening, where she appeared nothing more than a winsome tourist. Tapping her fingers against the base of the counter, she awaited someone to approach her, or to walk through that door, with a smile that begged her attention.
Siryn Venor
The Enigmatic Tourist
The door slowly opened, and a shimmer of black appeared through the crack. As the door opened, more of the black dress was revealed, and more of the person who wore it. Judging by the lack of noise coming from the club, she had made quite an impression, and for good reason. Through the dress was long, there was a long cut along the side, revealing long green legs. The top of the dress was more conservative, teaching up and surrounding her neck, but the diamond cut into the chest still allowed some sultriness to show through. The woman swayed with purpose, every movement calculated to draw attention to her. She sat close to Siryn, but not too close, letting to woman make the first move if she wished.
Shari Binns
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