Kitiara Uth Matar (dark_lady) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2016-05-18 09:08:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, isabela, kitiara uth matar |
Who: Kitiara and Isabela
What: Two good-looking women walk into a bar
When: Before Isabela goes to Vegas (Early last week sometime)
Where: A divebar
Rating/Warning: Teenish for a bar fight (involving knives).
Status: Complete
Isabela promised a night on the town, and she’d deliver. Kit didn’t seem to be the ‘dinner and dancing’ type, at least not the discoteque dancing type - the kind where you were grinding up on everyone else as lights flashed like alien UFO beams and the bass rattled your teeth. More like the ‘barfight dance’ type, which Bela could respect. She would take her new friend to the Hanged Man too, when it was all said and done, but for now they stuck with some of the pirate’s most favourite places where she was most well known. These places had charm. Dirty charm, mind you.
Like the one they were in now, for example? It was an actual dive bar, nothing hipster posing as such. A good dive bar left you feeling the slightest twinge of concern for personal safety (provided you didn’t carry multiple weapons on you like certain pirates tended to do). It was an old, blinking schlitz sign out front and gin and tonics in oftentimes dirty glass for cheap prices, no windows, fake wood paneling, a brick exterior that never answered the perpetual are they open/closed? question.
She had a whole bottle of rum to herself too; it helped to be known. “And whatever my lady friend wants,” Bela insisted to the bartender who took their order, pulling a wad of cash from her corset. Somehow she managed to cram bills in there with her tits, which was quite a feat. “It’s a special night, after all.” Living it up!
There had been a time in Kitiara’s life when she had frequented the kind of clubs that blasted obnoxious, remixed pop songs, charged far too much for a drink, and was filled with obnoxious bar stars. She was rather a fan of getting to know someone by grinding up against them, but she’d outgrown that phase rather quickly. Now the whole idea just kind of gave her a headache, and while she had never actually thought that someone who spent time with Raistlin would drag her to one of those bars, she was still appreciative that she ended up in a bar that felt more like home.
It was the kind of place that wouldn’t probably wouldn’t mind Kit’s dusty biker boots on their furniture, and would likely welcome her winning some hearts and breaking some noses. Kit herself wasn’t too concerned for her safety. She kept a knife strapped to the inside of her boot, and a gun strapped to her hip, not even remotely hidden by her painted on jeans and stringy halter top. Even if she had neither of those she knew she could hold her own against nearly everyone in this bar. Before she had sat down, she’d taken them all in, her black eyes travelling over the seedy looking bar tender, the group of men who looked like they’d never so much as seen the inside of a shower who’d turned to the girl’s when they’d come in, the couple who were drunkenly making out in a corner.
“I like your style,” she said to Isabela, flashing the other woman crooked smile. “I’ll have the same,” she told the bartender. “And you’d better give us clean glasses. I’d rather not taste stale booze and dirt when I’m drinking. Wouldn’t you agree, ‘Bela?”
A woman who had knives on her was a woman after Isabela’s own heart! She was a pirate who loved her shiny things, whether that be a blade or booty. In fact, Bela was a little bit armed too - something strapped to the thigh, a little something else in her bra. You never could tell what the night would bring, and it was young yet.
“Most certainly, we want to avoid being diseased when enjoying our swill,” she winked at the bartender, who got them two glasses right away - he hopped to it as if his life depended on it which, well, it probably did. But the finest rum in all the land, found right here. It was cinnamon-tinged deliciousness that provided one hell of a burn, and Isabela poured them both a generous measure.
A toast to being ladylike! “So, how do you like it so far in the OC?” she wanted to know. “I’m sure you’ve heard of all the weird shit - seems kind of unbelievable, doesn’t it?”
Kitiara knocked back most of her first glass in her first gulp, and felt it burn down her throat before it settled with a comfortable warmth in her stomach. Her lips curled into an almost feline smile, enjoying the feeling. “It’s an… experience,” Kitiara said after a moment. “I wouldn’t have believed it at all had I not shown up when Tasslehoff had taken up residence in Raistlin’s body. If you know the both of them, I’m sure you’ll realize what a strange experience that was. Raistlin’s explained some things to me, and he’s always been so… scientifically minded that it’s kind of hard to doubt the things he says.”
“That’s the first time I’ve seen a body swap happen here, but I’ve seen a lot otherwise, and it just sort of...happens,” Isabela sighed, her index finger tracing the edge of her (clean) glass. “So you’re in for a treat or two, I think. When you begin having the dreams of another version of yourself, that’s when things really start to perk up.”
Some people seemed to start having them right away, for others it took awhile - and there was no telling what the dreams would be about either, but Bela seemed to recall Tas mentioning that Kitiara was prominent in his own dreamscape too. Which made sense, given the sibling connection between her and Raistlin.
“He’s an alright sort though, I’m glad he’s got you here,” she went on, obviously talking fondly about the mage. His preoccupation with magic was a little worrying, not to mention his cough that he didn’t talk much about. “I taught him a few things with a knife, like how to fight with one, and he picked up on it well enough.” You’d need fighting skills to live here, no question about it.
“Ah yes, they’ve mentioned their dreams.” Raistlin had explained it as alternate realities, almost as varied as the people who dreamed them. Tas had painted a rather vivid picture of his dreams that involved wooly mammoths, dragons, magic and war. He’d mentioned that he had one dream with Kit, where he’d told her and another man named Sturm about his adventures with a teleportation ring, but he admitted he hadn’t seen Kit in his dreams since. “What do you dream about?”
She tried to picture her brother learning how to wield a knife, and she had to fight from laughing. “That surprises me,” she said. “One time I tried to teach him how to throw a punch, and I made him hit me until he cried.” It was a slight exaggeration; Raistlin hadn’t cried much even as a child. But she’d still made him hit her until he could barely lift his own arm and he still hadn’t managed to throw a decent one.
A grin tipped her mouth upward, laugh just barely contained too - on Isabela’s end, picturing Raistlin trying to learn the nuances of a right hook was bloody adorable. “He tries, bless him. I think he’s recently learned some more, hm...offensive skills that are a little unorthodox?” she said, because at least he had his spells, the ones he knew as of the moment - but if they for some reason didn’t work, Bela would want him to be prepared to stab just in case.
“Oh, but the world I dream of is referred to as Thedas.” Explaining it was depressing - everything about the world was depressing, happiness as rare as the peridot gemstone there. “It’s somewhat medieval, and there are dragons and all sorts of fantastical creatures. I’m from a country called Rivain,” she continued. Her mother had posed as a seer, where those with the gift draped themselves in gold and jewels, heavy kohl-lined eyes looking out from their headwraps - somewhat beautiful, that part of the world, yet she would never want to actually live in it. “But I end up stealing a pirate ship, becoming Captain, and traveling until we wreck in a shithole called Kirkwall - there, I find love and a new family of sorts and we fight a war for mage rights.”
That was the...very abbreviated version.
“I’m glad that he’s had at least one competent person here who’s been looking out for him,” Kitiara said. She wasn’t nearly as protective of Raistlin as Caramon was, but she had practically raised him until she decided the twins could fend for themselves, and she wasn’t particularly keen on the idea of all that time and effort being wasted by Raistlin getting himself killed.
“That doesn’t sound too different than what Tas said about his dreams. Medieval, dragons, flying horses, and war. Of course, what Tas says and what’s the reality are often two completely different things, though I think he was almost telling the truth in this instance.” Whether Tas and his gang of friends had actually managed to slay a flight of one hundred dragons by themselves was open to debate, though it was possible that there actually had been a dragon or two. “You’d think mages would be able to fight for their own rights, wouldn’t you?”
“Oy, you’d think,” Isabela rolled her eyes fondly over the edge of her glass, sipping her drink. “It was difficult for them, however, given how they were basically locked in prisons as soon as they farted wrong and it was discovered they had magical ability. Unless they went on the run, like my manfriend did. I didn’t really care much about those issues much, not ‘til I met him. Then he fought for my freedom, and I fought for his - for the freedom of all those like him.”
War though, lots of war. She hadn’t yet met anyone who didn’t dream of fighting something, whether it was literal demons or personal ones. “Tas has a unique way of telling stories though,” Bela snickered throatily. “You missed when me and Raistlin took him to Disney to cheer him up after one of his friends died. I think I might even have pictures.” Provided she got some of Raistlin’s First Day of Kindergarten in return!
“Romantic,” Kitiara said, only a bit of teasing in her voice. She was certain that she’d never fight for the freedom of a whole group of people just because she was sleeping with one of their number. Not unless the rewards to herself would be greater than the risk she’d take fighting. But she had to admit that she admired a woman who could fight for what she anted.
“You managed to take Raistlin to Disney?” Kit asked, one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows quirking slightly. “Oh, I wish I hadn’t missed that; it sounds like it must have been a riot. How exactly did my brother become friends with a charming woman like you in the first place?”
Bela made a mental note to show off the pictures later on; most were of Raistlin looking dour and unimpressed about being there (big surprise), and he’d refused pictures in the Mickey hat with ears - though Tas always had a big smile on his face. That tended to be a permanent fixture, Maker bless him.
“He came into my bookshoppe one day,” the pirate explained, grinning a little at the memory. “I used to be involved in the black market - “ She spoke casually about it too, because with like-minded individuals there was no fear of judgment, “...and so the shoppe was a front, really, but I found him some good reads anyway. Flirted a bit, told him he could take me to dinner - now here we are!” Dinner turned into zealous humping, as it tended to be with Isabela before she committed to one person, but it’d been fun.
Raistlin had needed a little bit of unwinding anyway, so he didn’t disappear into a hidey hole of gloom and doom. “I’m glad we’re friends, he’s an alright sort,” she added, but shifted her gaze to the group of shady-looking characters who were staring. What, had they never seen two women having a drink before?
Kitiara looked at Isabela with a look of affection. She had been a little worried about her little brother when he announced he was moving away, but it was beginning to look like she didn’t have to bother. It sounded as though he was doing just fine here. But then, she’d always suspected that he would be. He was a lot like her in that regard.
“I’m glad you’re friends too,” Kitiara said honestly. “And not just because of your exceptional taste in alcohol.” She took brought the glass to her lips and swallowed a mouthful of the liquid, and the rum slid smoothly down her throat. She followed Isabela’s gaze. Where the alcohol failed change her expression, seeing the leering men made her sneer. “I do have to say I’m a little disappointed. I thought California men were supposed to be better looking,” she said, not bothering to keep her voice down.
Two of the men scowled, and muttered something to one of his companions, as if arguing to come and say something to the ladies. Kit flashed Isabela another crooked smile, hoping her companion wouldn’t mind some company.
Company. No, not in the slightest. Isabela wouldn’t mind busting a few heads, if necessary. That was always the best kind of company! “It is a little disappointing, isn’t it?” she sighed, also speaking essentially toward those lunkheads - and it was probably obvious as well, but she’d been itching for a good fight anyway. Sometimes you just needed to blow off a little steam, you know?
“Perhaps after a few more drinks they’ll look better,” she teased, causing one of the men - affectionately dubbed Thing 1 in her head - to hiss out a very clever bitch in her general direction.
How completely and utterly not chivalrous. “We were just wanting to know how much, ladies,” Thing 2 slurred. “But if you skanks won’t take our money, there are other ones who will.”
“It’s possible, though it may take more alcohol than they have in this bar,” Kitiara joked, which caused some more angry muttering from the table. It was enough of an insult to make Thing 3 clamour to his feet, knocking his pint glass to the floor in the process.
Though, Kitiara’s eyes took on a predatory glint once money was mentioned, and then she turned in her seat to get a better look at the three guys, inconspicuously moving the blade from inside her leather boots into the palm of her hand. “You didn’t mention anything about paying us, Baby,” Kitiara said, her voice sultry. “Why don’t you and your friends come over here. I’m sure my friend and I would be more than happy to take your money.” She wouldn’t get naked for it, but she’d be more than happy to relieve these gentlemen of their worldly burdens.
There was a moment of confusion at the men’s table at the sudden change of tone, but then the men rose and made their way to the girls’ table. “See? All you have to do is wave some money around, and bitches like them will be like putty in your hands,” one of the men said, imparting some of his apparently very limited wisdom upon his friends.
Isabela wasn’t really one to simper, but she could fake it pretty well - the look in those goldust eyes was almost amused, oh please, please regale us with more of your wisdom. Is that how you get the ‘bitches’ to be putty in your hands, Thing? Tell them more.
“She’s right, we’re more than happy to take your money - to work out a transaction of sorts,” Bela stated, and now that the Three Stooges were over here, it was essentially going to be like taking candy from a baby. Because they had no idea who or what they were dealing with - as if there was no way the woman with her tits on display in that top knew how to throw down.
But as for that transaction? The heel of her hand slammed into the fellow’s throat, and when he gasped and stumbled, she went for the solar plexus next - then a knee to the groin for good measure, and her knives were out to play. There she was, spinning shinies and debating where the best spot would be to slip the blade.
Now that slight pandemonium had broken out and all.
Kitiara’s smile only grew when Isabella struck out. The other two men were obviously confused about what had just happened, and Kitiara decided to ease some of that confusion by taking hold of a Thing 2’s head and slamming it into the edge of their table. The man crumpled to the ground, crying out about his face.
By this time, it appeared everyone else in the bar had realized what was going on. The couple that had been sucking face in the corner was watching the fight (if this could even be considered a fight) with wonder, and the bartender apparently remembered some Very Important Business he had to do in the backroom, but Kit noticed he hadn’t reached for the phone that was sitting on the end of the bar.
The third man backed up, realizing what was happening to his friends. “You crazy fucking sluts!” he exclaimed, not hiding the fear in his voice. He looked to his friends and then to the door, for the moment temporarily unsure if he should try to help them or turn table, but noticing the knives in Isabela’s hands, he turned and started scrambling for the door.
“Wise decision,” Isabela quipped, stepping on Thing 2’s head - just a little, to keep his poor smashed face to the ground (that slam into the table must have hurt), and waving goodbye to the departing loser. A shame she didn’t get a chance to stab him in the testicles, but alas. All’s well that ends well!
She’d been called worse than a crazy fucking slut, anyway - not that it bothered her. And she did hope these fine fellows learned their lesson.
Reaching over the bartop (since the lone person running this joint hadn’t bothered to call the police and disappeared, probably used to shenanigans such as these), she grabbed a bottle of top-shelf whiskey for the road. “Well, I think our work here is done!” Bela announced, flashing Kitiara a beauty queen grin.
Kitiara knelt down beside the man that Isabela had taken down, and as the third man reached the door, she gave her wrist a nearly lazy flick and her dagger found it’s mark in the retreating man’s calf. He crashed to the ground with a scream, and Kitiara busied herself with relieving his companions of their cash.
She sashayed her way to the bar. From her own wallet (she would split what she had picked up from the men with Isabela later), she pulled out a couple of folded hundred dollar bills and placed them on the bar, calling into the back that it was “for the trouble.” Then she turned to Isabela with her crooked smile. “You really do know how to show a girl a good time, you know,” she purred.
“Good shot,” Bela complimented, because that was a fine throw with the knife; Kit had skills, the type of skills that got her all excited and wet in the knickers region (she was involved, sure, but could still appreciate a lady who had talent with a blade). “And, oh, thanks love. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself - I had a feeling you’d like the place.”
They’d have to do this again sometime! Normally she’d say without the addition of the bar fight, but you know. Why make promises you couldn’t necessarily keep?