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Vodquila



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Fri Aug 24, 2018 8:52 pm
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Featherstone says...



~Vodquila~


Perhaps you've had some alcohol problems in the past. Or, maybe you've just had a really bad day. Alternatively, you might not even really want to get drunk and you might've just shown up at the bar, but don't lie; we all know you want some fun, too.

A neon sign flashing the word "VODQULA" shines above the door, the "I" in "QUILA" mysteriously missing. Below it is a luminescent icon of a horned skull with a fork. Or maybe it's whatever that thing Satan supposedly has. You're probably too drunk to notice or have had too bad a day to care.

Inside, it looks like most bars. Unsurprisingly, there's a bar, with worn stools along the front, and a few tables. A television perches in the corner and shamelessly displays Titanic and the bartender - who, until you walked in, had no customers that were bothering him - is watching it with a dreamy smile. He jumps a little as the bell jingles and you enter.

"What can I get you?" he inquires, putting down the shot glass he was drying and turning his attention away from the iconic scene that became a viral internet meme - 'draw me like one of your French girls.'


Spot 1: @Featherstone
Spot 2: @Magestorrow
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Spot 4: @soundofmind
Spot 5: @ChristenedPages
"All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost."


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Fri Aug 24, 2018 9:01 pm
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Featherstone says...



Kratzer sat in the corner, glaring at his bottle of Vodquila with intensity. So far, his day had consisted of getting stabbed, captured, shot, nearly decapitated, betrayed, and then almost incinerated before having the police dropped on his tail and leaving him to shake them and that Verdammt snake on his own.

All in all, it'd been a very s*****-a** day that he was quite eager to forget. The scarred German poured himself another liberal glass of the clear liquid. He hated the scent, and he hated the taste, and if he was honest he didn't even really like getting drunk - but it was better than the mixed feelings of guilt and of anger and of pain. That wasn't even getting started on the physical beating he'd taken that day.

Blood might have done him more good, but he pushed the thought away; no one else needed to get hurt. Not that night.
"All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost."


he/him/his





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Fri Aug 24, 2018 9:18 pm
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Mageheart says...



Spoiler! :
Meet Schadel H. Kueper and Edward Smith! Neither of them have character profiles, but they've been around the site before. Here's all you need to know about them.

Schadel: She's tall. I'd say six feet, maybe a little more. She has long black hair, pale skin and eyes the color of polished silver. She's wearing all black - a long black jacket, black shirt, black pants, and black leather boots. The only splash of color is the silver cross hanging around her neck. She looks like she's just barely legal. She's also got a German accent.

Edward: He's average height, and also appears to be just barely legal. He's a ghost, but not the stereotypical transparent type. He's wearing an American military uniform from World War II; it's covered in dirt, grime and a little bit of blood right around a hole in his chest. He has auburn hair and piercing blue eyes. He was definitely considered a looker once, but war has made his features become hardened. There's a small clip pushing some of his hair back, but it could easily be overlooked at a distance.

Edward can hold onto objects, and is visible to everyone present, but he'll go through any living thing except Schadel if they try to touch him. His outfit might draw some attention, but chances are that he'll appear to be a normal, living person.


Schadel slipped into the bar, Edward trailing behind her by only a foot or two. It was clear that they had never been in a bar like this from the eager looks on their faces.

The two headed towards the back of the room to find a seat that's nicely out of view. The clip would only do much, Schadel had reminded him when they had been arguing out in the streets only minutes earlier. This was something Edward was not happy about in the slightest, but he unfortunately understood the reasoning. Coming here was already a stretch as it was.

They ended up sitting down only a table away from the man brooding in the corner. Edward didn't like the feeling he got off of him, but he couldn't explain why. Schadel, apparently, felt the same way from how intently she was currently staring at him.
mage

[ she/her, but in a boy kinda way ]

roleplaying is my platonic love language.

queer and here.





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Fri Aug 24, 2018 10:24 pm
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SirenCymbaline says...



Spoiler! :
Character Profiles I'm bringing in our good old Boris, and making him pre-Lost City so I don't have to work in memories of that, or Masquerade.


Presently, I was beyond caring how I got here. Almost two decades' worth of toil, careful deduction, and dangerous gambles had lead to yet another roadblock, and the liquor I had already ingested was not remotely enough to relieve me of that.

So I observed a scarred and woebegone man who looked leagues worse off than I, and ordered what he was having. It was a gamble, but again, I was beyond caring.

I still felt sober enough to lie, and sensible enough to question if the youths at the table adjacent to mine were of legal drinking age, so clearly I was in dire need of something very strong.
Bad souls have born better sons, better souls born worse ones -St Vincent





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Fri Aug 24, 2018 10:37 pm
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Featherstone says...



He was wearing a military uniform, Kratzer realized as the two seemingly-under aged individuals walked in. A World War II uniform. His initial reaction was to pass it off as a replica, part of a costume party or some such, but even his buzzed self began to recognize the subtle signs: the wear on the fabric, the colors, the patterns, the shape.

He nearly choked on his vodquila as it all clicked, coughing and forcing himself to swallow the burning alcohol, eyes wide with shock.

"You, kid," he called to the neighboring table, his accent particularly thick due to the sheer lack of effort to minimize it. "Where the Hölle did you get that?"

As he spoke, the barkeep doled out drinks, not even bothering to check ID's.
"All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost."


he/him/his





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Sat Aug 25, 2018 1:55 am
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ChristenedPages says...



Spoiler! :
Name: unknown, calls themself Astrid
Gender: unknown, appears female
Age: unknown
Appearance: curly, long black hair and creamy pale skin. They have crimson eyes that look kind and sad upon inspection, but overall intimidating. They are currently wearing a knee-length silvery dress that is concealing holseters strapped at the thigh. Also wearing a trench coat over the dress and combat boots below it, unaware of the clashing styles.


Astrid swung open the bar door, sighing as they took in the dim lighting and the sparse other customers. They walk quietly to an empty barstool, trotting in a strange gait- somewhere between a gracefulness and stomping that seemed to be made for a much heavier frame.

It was quickly apparent to them that this setting was ideal for what they were intending to do- think over work, drink, and get drunk if possible. With a charming smile at the bartender (again, something about it was not quite right), they ordered a mimosa.

When the minty cocktail was served, Astrid glanced around casually before pushing the material of her dress up to unclasp something underneath. They pulled out a flask, decorated in colorful runes, and quickly poured a good amount into the drink. Inky black alcohol swirled in the glass, and they raised it to their lips.
"what dose the raccoon look like?"





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Sat Aug 25, 2018 4:30 am
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soundofmind says...



Spoiler! :
This version of James has long hair pulled back in a ponytail and a goatee - so it's like a beard just not on his cheeks.


James sat at the opposite end of the bar, only half-way through his drink as he saw all of the others walk in, filling in the bar stools beside him. He ignored them, apart from one glance to the side to note that they were there.

The two hardly looked old enough to be there.

He took another long drink, chugging the rest of the glass with a straight face before setting it back down on its coaster while he tried not to think about the last few days.
Pants are an illusion. And so is death.






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Sat Aug 25, 2018 9:45 am
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Mageheart says...



Edward bristled at being called a kid, but Schadel wisely reached across the table and gave his hand a tight squeeze - one that was meant to comfort him, but also meant to remind him not to get too frustrated over things they couldn't avoid.

I'm older than him, Edward angrily signed, not wanting their friend at the next table over to hear him letting out this particular frustration.

I know you are, Schadel signed back, letting out a sigh underneath her breath. She understood his feelings; she always was considered to be younger than she actually was, or even the age she had intended to be. Even now she could feel and see the way that people were staring at the two of them, and she knew it wasn't just because Edward was wearing a World War II uniform.

Edward took a swig of the drink that was placed at their table. "I got it from my great-grandfather," he lied through gritted teeth, his frustration clearly written across his face.
mage

[ she/her, but in a boy kinda way ]

roleplaying is my platonic love language.

queer and here.





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Sat Aug 25, 2018 2:31 pm
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SirenCymbaline says...



There she was, a heaven-sent distraction in a silvery dress and heavy boots. I didn't remotely need the vodquila to approach her, but it certainly did not hurt. Well, it did hurt a little, in the literal physical sense, but good god was it worth it.

"Are you in the mood for some company, madam? I'd be glad to buy your next drink, if you'd like."
Bad souls have born better sons, better souls born worse ones -St Vincent





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Sat Aug 25, 2018 3:59 pm
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Featherstone says...



The frustration began when he said the word 'kid.' Kratzer's eyes narrow. Something isn't adding up. He can feel his instinct screaming that there's something off - and yet, he has no solid evidence that there is, so what can he say? He studies Edward for a few minutes before dropping the subject and returning to his drink, still watching the two of them out of the corner of his eye.
"All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost."


he/him/his





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Sat Aug 25, 2018 4:45 pm
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ChristenedPages says...



Astrid threw back the remnaints of their glass. Someone appeared to be flirting with a girl next to them. They glanced over their shoulder and then back to the man. Oh. So someone was flirting with them. Interesting. Hopefully this would give them some decent conversation.

They smiled, the same strange sort of smile that they gave the bartender.

"Another drink wouldn't hurt anything."

They were completely out of their element and somewhat oblivious. But, of course, they were also exited to have new experiences, and were always willing to bluff their way through them.
"what dose the raccoon look like?"





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Sat Aug 25, 2018 11:34 pm
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Mageheart says...



Even after the confrontation ended, Edward still kept his gaze on the man. Schadel let out a quiet, frustrated sigh and took a long sip of her drink. The stuff was strong, but it was nothing compared to some of the old stuff Blanx had kicking around in his basement.

"Edward," she whispered, "please don't get into a bar fight."

"I'm not going to."

"You don't sound so confident about that," she pointed out. They were friends, and had been for quite some time. She knew exactly how he ticked. He might not get into fights often, but she knew the warning signs. "Please. This is the first time either one of us has been in a bar, remember? A bar fight would ruin the experience."

Edward glowered for a moment before glaring at his drink instead. "...Fine."
mage

[ she/her, but in a boy kinda way ]

roleplaying is my platonic love language.

queer and here.





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Sun Aug 26, 2018 12:05 am
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Featherstone says...



It was his scent that was offputting, Kratzer realized. It was a bizarre mix of things he'd never smelled at once before - well, he had, but not since war times, and this had something extra that threw him off. Blood, dirt, gunpowder - these were normal, but then there was the scent of death and...that thing he couldn't identify. The uniform, the hole, the blood, the death - this man was not who he was saying. A part of Kratzer wondered if Kennewick had been up to something other than Nachtlich-Jäger, but he wasn't entirely sure that was possible. Boomslang, maybe; he wouldn't put it past her.
"All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost."


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Sun Aug 26, 2018 1:56 am
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Mageheart says...



Schadel took another sip of her drink. Though she wasn't currently looking in the man's direction, she knew that Edward's response had only caused more questions instead of concerns. Which was worrying, to say the least. He should have asked what the uniform was for.

Instead, he fell silent.

Schadel turned around and studied the man, intently staring at where his heart was. She had to focus for a second, but what she was looking for eventually presented itself - a glowing, pulsing cartoonish heart attached to his body by strands of the same color. But something wasn't right. There were strands that weren't his, keeping his soul inside his body. It wasn't supposed to work like that.

She spit her drink out in her shock.

There was just one little problem.

She was looking right in the man's direction.
mage

[ she/her, but in a boy kinda way ]

roleplaying is my platonic love language.

queer and here.





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Sun Aug 26, 2018 2:04 am
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Featherstone says...



"Ach, sheisse! What the Hölle is it with you two?!" he snapped, wiping the Vodquila off his face. "I swear to Verdammt Gott, you ficken walk in here, you look underage, that one smells like a warzone, and then you take one look at me and you spit out your drink! That doesn't even mention whatever the f*** you are!" he gestured to Edward. "Because it sure as Hölle ain't human with you smelling that way, or at least not a normal one!"
"All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost."


he/him/his








The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee; my heart is at your festival.
— William Shakespeare