Logs:Sage Has His Brain Punched
|Sage Has His Brain Punched|
"Why is he such a fucking drunk?"
|Dramatis Personae|| |
22 August, 2015
Sage comes across a drunk screaming at a street lamp. Anger happens.
It's another warm night in Pigeon Hill. The air is especially foul tonight, a mixture of vomit and cheap perfume seems to be wafting on the wind. The sky is dark and angry looking over head, the threat of a thunderstorm to come. Most people are off the streets given the weather and the smell in the area. However there is a single man standing on a street corner down from Queen of Hearts. This man is screaming obscenities at a broken street light. He's also hitting it with what appears to be a plastic bottle of some hard liqour. His obscenities don't even make much sense.
"Fuck you piggitsh! I'mma stab you in your squeach and pull out your guts!"
Whack, whack goes the bottle against the street lamp.
The vulgarity that greets Sage as he leaves the Lounge is as surprising as it is annoying. "Hey!" he shouts to the man verbally abusing a street lamp. "Calm it down!" He turns to walk towards him, brow quirked as he looks the stranger over.
The man whirls around at the shout given toward him. His bottle is brandished at Sage. He staggers a step toward the man. His eyes wide, glossy, and incredibly blood shot. This man is hammered out of his mind for sure.
"Hey fuck you! Fuck you dicksplork!" The bottle is waved at Sage. "You can't tell me what to do! I'll tear out your hair and make a wig! A WIG!"
He tips the bottle of booze and takes a long gulp, draining the bottle dry.
As he drops his arm back down, there is a pricking of unseen senses.
Sage takes a deep breath when the volley of insults come at him. He shakes his head, lifting both hands up as he approaches. "Yeah, yeah. I've heard it before. Look, just because I have nice hair doesn't mean it'll make a good wig. Stuff like that takes time and training. By the time you turn my hair into a wig I could've gotten someone to hook you up with a weave."
The smell is the first thing that Sage will notice. This man is ripe with alcohol. His eyes are so blood shot there is very little white in the sclera. He bares his teeth at Sage and snarls at him, "Bring me a bucket and I'll show you a bucket!" The man suddenly turns to the side and vomits. He groans a moment and goes to take another swig from the bottle of alcohol. There's now much in it. It's drank down quick, and once more after the bottle is lowered Sage feels a ping of his unseen sense. And the bottle once more has a little bit of alcohol in it.
Sage keeps his hands up in innocence, a smile playing at his lips. His gaze flits to the man's bottle momentarily, but his attention stays on the stranger then. His stare is unblinking as he speaks. "Yeah, I don't really have a bucket around, and it looks like you could use one. Why don't you tell me why you're out here mad at the street lamps, and I'll overlook you wantin' to scalp me?"
As Sage's magic works through the man the Obrimos has to push a little bit harder than should be necessary for simple intoxication. As if it were supernaturally intensified But it is banished and the man suddenly straightens and stares at Sage. "The hell?" He looks around, frowning, "How'd I get here?"
The man's nature is easy for Sage to see. It is not quite as bright as an Awakened but it holds little glimmers of magic and sparks of an inner fire. This man is human, he is mortal, but he is touched by magic. A proximus.
Sage's hands are dropped to his side when he finally blinks. The man is met with further scrutiny, but of the mundane variety now. "You're in Pigeon Hill, and you were just telling me about how you wanna rip my hair out and make a wig." He pauses to let that sink in, but continues speaking before he allows the man any form of reprisal. "You were also shouting at a street lamp. So, I'll ask again: Is there a problem?"
"Nah man. There is no problem." He lifts his bottle once more and gulps down the contents. Ping! That pricking of unseen sense happens again as once more the bottle refills itself. The man shifts, as if to walk away from Sage.
Sage with his sight enhanced by his legacy will see that the man is not casting a spell. The source of unseen sense pricking is not coming from the man himself.
Seriously, some people have perfect timing....joke goes here. Domino is just such a person, really. The woman comes casually strolling down the street, heading in the direction of the pair, one she knows, one that seems to be as crazy as a loon. If there's a surprise that there is a magically refilling bottle it is mostly out of jealousy that she doesn't have one of her own.
Sage turns around just to catch a glance of Domino's egress. His attention returns to the once drunken man, and it doesn't appear that he'll be taking no for an answer. "No," he responds in turn, and forcibly removes the bottle from the other man's hands. "You're going to tell me what's goin' on, and where it is you came from."
"GIVE THAT BACK!" The man is suddenly shouting at the top of his lungs and swiping for the bottle. "I need that! Give it back! Give it back! Give it back!" And then there is a flash of unseen sense and a flare of magic from the man, and an invisible-psychic fist punches Sage's skull.
It's not exactly the most grand of entrances, and seems to be about as useful as water being poured into a bucket with a bowl. When Domino spots what is going down she tries to be helpful, but other than that brief flash of unseen sense flaring....nothing happens. It doesn't stop the woman's approach towards the pair of the men, though. Perhaps a little more quickly than initially.
Sage grits his teeth, and remains where he is after the psychic backlash. "I don't care what you need." His eyes narrow, and he tightens his grip on the bottle. "I'll give it back to you. Maybe. Now answer my questions, or I'll shove this bottle so far up your ass you spit beer."
The man lets out a snarl at Sage. He swipes for the bottle again but doesn't get too close to the mage. Another psychic fist slams against Sage's brain. The man snarls, "Give that back! I'll fucking die without it!"
"Why..." Not that Domino really gives a shit why. It is what it is, and this is what fate has decided for tonight. So she tries something different. Instead of striking at the crazed man, this time she throws the spell towards Sage. It'd be unbecoming to cross her fingers, but she does it anyways.
It appears Sage has lost all care for the man's wants as his anger becomes ever more present. He doesn't budge when another mental attack comes his way, but it's clear he's had enough. "I was kind enough to ask you again, but-" His voice trails off as he holds the bottle in both hands. It takes a bit more force than usual, but eventually both of his palms meet. The bottle shatters in his death grip, sending shards into his hands and onto the ground at his feet. "Last chance, asshole. Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck are you doing?"
The man goes pale when Sage brings up the bottle between his hands. He jerks when the bottle is broken. The breaking causes the man to screams inarticulately and without sanity. Magic pings around him as he thrusts a hand toward Sage screaming wordlessly at him. A psychic fists slams down onto Sage's brain with the force of the man's fury.
As soon as she's close enough to the pair, Domino jumps for the crazy guy. She leaps at him and start to attempt to hit him in a manner meant to be distracting more than actually lethal. "Why. The. Fuck. Are. You. Ruining. My. Fucking. Night. Asshole."
The shards resting in his hands are painful enough to be sure, but when the drunk hits him with a psychic low blow he goes out like a light. However, he's not down for the count. His lids burst open before he has a chance to rest, and he's already fuming mad beyond belief after a momentary call to the Primal Wilds. Under his breath he growls, "You woke the wrong dog, boy."
The man whirls on Domino when she begins to hit him. His fury continues in its insanity. He screams wordlessly at her and a psychic fist slams against her break. Meanwhile, blood has started to drip from the man's nose.
The hit was not at all expected, but then again, Domino just sort of rolls with it, figuratively speaking. She growls at the man, and starts to pull something from deep down inside her, twisting around to try and take another swing at the man, "Fucker!"
There's a bit of a stumble, but then Domino's back in the game. This time there's a flare of magic once more, and then she swings back one foot and skiccks the man as hard as she possibly can. Tres effectively, at least it looks like it should be, even if it's barely as annoying as a gnat flying around.
Sage's wrath is seemingly infinite as he pulls the man to the ground, the most professional tackle and grapple one may ever see. His fist is raised to the air as he stares a whole into the man. "Are you fucking sorry!?" he shouts aloud, and brings the first from what looks like the first of many blows. As the first blow comes his nimbues flares in a rush of blue fire that wreathes his form. From his forehead a jewel shines down an odd, faint light upon the man's forehead as if it will somehow cleanse him of the Thaumaturgist's rage.
The man goes limp underneath the punching fists of Sage. His eyes roll back in his head and shudders out a ragged awful breath. The two mages can see that there is something wrong with the man above and beyond the damage they did to him. By now blood is pouring out of his nose, ears, mouth, and eyelids.
Sage readies another punch only to pull back at the last second. He instead leans closer whilst over the man, and pulls him up by the neck of his shirt to be face to face with him. No empathy for the drunk, but there's still a bit of pity to be find tugging at him. The Monk places a hand against the man's face, loosing him of his pain whilst funneling down the Primal Wilds' power. "Dom, look at that bottle," or the pieces of it, "and tell me what the fuck you see."
It is probably a good thing that Sage stopped, because Domino probably would have kept going. But when she's directed towards the bottle, or the pieces of it, she turns her attention towards it. The knuckles of her hand rub absently at her side as she steps over towards it, crouching down to give it a long, slow once or thrice over, "It was magic, the bottle was. Someone laid some heavy fate shit down on it, but whatever it was it's as broken as the bottle. Some of it is trying to cling to it like a little fucking lemur...but..."
Sage's mouth sets into a line when he receives that new little tidbit. He looks down to the man again, and then back to Domino with a frown. "I wanna try something real quick. Can you run in and get me a bottle of booze. Doesn't matter what."
"Sure." Domino replies with a shrug of her shoulders, pushing herself up to her feet and dusting off her hands. She's not very hurried with her movements, sadly. But she does head inside and fetch a bottle of th cheapest vodka they've got in stock, holding it out towards him when she returns.
Sage snatches the bottle away, quickly adding, "Thanks," afterward. His attention goes to the man, and he moves off his torso to squat near his shoulder. A hand goes to the drunk, and then he takes holds out the bottle to him. "Wake up," he says with a flush of magic. "And take the bottle you goddamned lush."
The man's eyes snap open at the command and at the same time reach out for the bottle of cheap vodka. His fingers clench on it and it is drawn to his chest. His gaze is wide and flicking around. In pain and scared. "Fuckfuckfuck." He mutters. "Fuck." A pause and a deep breath. "I need-- I need to go back now. Fuck. Get it-- get it made again."
"Made where?" Domino wonders idly, her hands tucking into the pockets of her jeans, her eyes absently sliding in th direction of th broke bottle. "Tell you want, we'll help you out. Get you up on your feet, make sure that you get there safe and that they remake it just right for you."
Sage doesn't move an inch as the man awakens, and lifts a hand in defiance of the Cabal's Farseeker. His gaze is still locked on the stranger, a sneer playing at his lips. "You can go back later. Now, tell me what the fuck you are, or I can continue where I left off." He moves a bit to reveal the bloodied back of his hand. "And I really don't think you wanna try that magic again. Because if my head hurts one more fucking time I'm going to wear yours on my fucking fists. Oluqondakala?"
The man looks toward Domino and then toward Sage once more. His teeth set for a brief moment but the threat breaks him quickly enough. To Domino he says, "South Burlington." Vermont? He looks toward Sage and says, "I'm a proximus of the Chittenden dynasty."
"So you got it made in South Burlington?" Domino wonders, repeating it back to the man just to be on the safe side. But then she shakes her head, taking a step towards Sage to murmur more quietly to him, "The Chittenden....they're sort of you know..on our side. Kind of recently, not sure where they were before throwing their lot in with us, or if they were anywhere to begin with at all, honestly. But heading to Vermont might provide useful you know?"
Sage looks between Domino and the newly-named Proximi, still more than a bit suspicious. After a few heavy seconds he nods, and stands back to his full height. "Okay then. If that's the case, why the fuck is he such a fucking drunk?"
"Because my bottle gave me a never ending supply of vodka." says the proximus, blandly. A look is given to Domino and he says, "Yes, South Burlington."
Domino snorts faintly at Sage, "Pick a reason...some people just can't handle the truth." She then glances towards the proximus, "You povide me the name of who made it, we'll see about getting it duplicated for you. Right, right?"
The proximus slowly pushes himself upward now. He sways a little bit and then looks toward Domino once more. "A mage named Chopin. He's, uh, dating my sister."
"Chopin?" Domino's brows inch upwards, "Wouldn't Mozart or Wolfgang have been better? Whatever... anyways." She reaches into her back pocket, produccing a business card with a single domino on the front, a phone number, and a pen. She holds it out to the proximus, "Write down his number, and anything about him you can think of as being relevant."