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Aloesque last won the day on August 23 2016

Aloesque had the most liked content!

About Aloesque

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    King of Swords

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  1. The stranger's interjection cut through Antique's growing cordial grin. She was even partway through raising her hands in a celebratory gesture before she bore the labor of scrutinizing what she had thought was to be a passerby. I swear at the gods, if this is a double-hire, I'm going to kill someone, was her loudest thought as she half-turned her head in frustration, biting at the inside of her lip. It was a regal sort of gesture--the turn of her head--the kind that laid at the dapper end of the ambiguity of her mannerisms. "I've never seen him before." She stated, adding a taste of doubt to the new conversation, which she cut with a smile, reaching her hand out between them. "Antique. Well met Clive. Blackjack is the one picking the drinks tonight, but they're on me. Or, his are... don't think I can cover three of us, sorry." She lied, but the nature of their agreement didn't ask for money for her and her guest, and gods knew she didn't have any to pay.
  2. Who doesn't love Tame Impala?
  3. Feeling stuck everywhere I go. ;,,;

  4. Antique cherished the moments where she could simply listen to him talk, nod along, inhale her ale, and enjoy a story. It reminded her that there was sense in the arrangement. It was more than a sad excuse to escape herself through constant inebriation. Though, that purpose still drove her. She was almost done with her drink when his story was told, so much as he wished to tell. "Lovely. You sound as at home here as I then. And well met, my name's Antique." She looked over the bar with him, assessing threats over opportunities for entertainment. No one really seemed out to get her, and in such a mess of people, that was a comfort to her. Once, and only once, she had been asked if she was royalty here. That amused her, since she had sat on a throne in a very long time, but apparently she bore some resemblance to a royal line, the queen of whom she had actually had the chance of meeting--she wondered, vaguely, whether that woman was also an angel-who-wasn't-an-angel, but decided it was unlikely. "'Thefty' would be better for my skills," she said without giving any kind of direct answer, "but for now I'm just company. Haven't the money for gambling and I'm too sober for singing, which--" she finished her flagon and rested it clamorously on the counter. "I think I might do a whiskey this time too." She told the bartender when they finally came to attend. Once it was in hand, she slipped off of the stool and faced Gavin. "Your night in the underbelly: why don't you choose an organ?" Her smirk seemed to be for her own amusement at having the privilege to say such a phrase. "Sorry if that's not terribly helpful, but sometimes it's best not to be anyway."
  5. She tilted her head at her charge, hanging her hair like so. "Win? I think it would have been a louder fight if somebody won. He touched me and that wasn't part of the deal. Anyway, it's sad when somebody wins a fight. Losing one is ugly." Antique took a swig of her ale. It seemed that after having woken some, she would need more to really play with her ability to speak. A smirk crawled onto her face in regarding him with his drink. "It's your sort of place hmm? And I was right about the whiskey." Her state of dress was androgynous, counter to how it hugged her body. She was wearing boots and breeches with a militaristic, yet comfortable coat. It left her looking relaxed, despite being overly formal, and something about the way she carried herself fit her in with the rest of the crowd quite well. "I'll keep you company if you'd like. Not that kind of company, but I'm sure if that's what you're looking for, it could be arranged--" she sipped her drink again, properly turning toward Blackjack for the first time. "Do you prefer the bar or a table then?"
  6. I suppose I'm back. I've missed Valucre.

    1. amenities


      Welcome back!

    2. Rin


      Welcome back space cowboy 

  7. Antique - Chronic wanderer, at odds with deities. Cia Sha - Innocent, scarred master student. Soris Talra - Male power fantasy. Ezra Talra - Female power fantasy. Nersi - D&D helps make good characters. Aza - Keep secrets, do witchcraft.
  8. Oh! Thanks! I don't recognize your username. Edit: Oh! Britty! Hey. Thanks. 🙂
  9. I've posted with my character Antique, whose profile is an outdated mess on here, but if you'll have me, this should make a lovely comeback thread. ^^ The thread's tagged as Open, so I just went ahead and posted. I'm a bit out of practice too, so forgive me if anything comes off as a bit off. I checked out that website of yours--you seem very educated and resourceful. I admire that. Anyway, looking forward to seeing more of your writing. - Wanderlost, who usually goes by Aloesque these days.
  10. Miraculously, amidst the pandemonium that was one of the liveliest dives in the city, a woman was sprawled at the end of the bar. Long curly black hair spilled onto the surface, and she had a half-downed ale in arm's reach. There was still a knife in her hand, perhaps in part for the consistency of bar fights for the time of day, but what made it impressive was how still she slept and how she had not yet been unhanded of the weapon. Further, the hand it was tucked into was wrapped in white cloth that had clearly been bled through from the knuckles. A large, muscular man, perhaps a sort of retainer, whose sleeves had been cut off to show off layers of hard muscle, thumped the counter next to her. "'Ey, make pay. Say hi." He yanked her up by the collar and found her knee in his crotch quite promptly. His size and strength didn't seem to concern or affect her. In fact, she was fast, got her knee behind his, and brought him down with an arm around his throat. She breathed heavily in his ear, working up to speaking through her evident grogginess. "I can make pay," she hissed directly into his ear, "don't touch me." He flexed his muscles and threw the woman over his shoulder into the stool she'd sat in, knocking it over her. She threw it with hardly any contact by her own hand and held forth her dagger as a threat. The man came to his feet with his hands outstretched after tossing the stool between them. "Deal, deal." He insisted, not wanting to prolong the unnecessary violence. "Good." Their interaction didn't seem too unusual for the sort of place, and having drawn only cursory eyes for the sake of a few other active fights, Antique found the sheath for her knife and stowed it away. "Who?" The hulk of a man jerked his thumb at the newcomer, and she nodded, falling back to the bar. "Snake that bit me," she slurred at the bartender, and shortly after an ale from the tap was slid in front of her. She sipped the froth off the top and turned to Blackjack with a two-fingered wave, which was something of a curt gesture. "Stranger." She spoke only barely above the din, perhaps too low for Blackjack to hear even, and certainly not with any degree of clarity. Then she shouted at him. "Whit and whist and whiskey sir?" Clearly it was a flash of a phrase, but something seemed certain about her assessment of whiskey as an interest. She watched him for a moment, her eyes flashing gold in the fiery lighting, then turned and took her place at a stool to focus on her ale. She rambled quietly at the bartender, who lackadaisically nodded along. She shrugged and pressed her fingers into her side, testing the soreness from the last fight, and otherwise waited as so.
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