Shadows With Eyes

[kyros]

“Holding on to anger, resentment and hurt only gives you tense muscles, a headache and a sore jaw from clenching your teeth. Forgiveness gives you back the laughter and the lightness in your life! Ahahaha!” Kyros fell back into laughter, beating his palm atop the table a couple times. “So, my dearest shady friend, would you like me to forgive you?” He met Akaroth in the eye, cocking his head to the side only slightly. “If only I could give you the joy of such, hm? Forgiveness from me is like water from a stubborn, shallow well.” And he knew this quite well, for he rarely ever forgave anyone, unless it was needed, and one was to get on their knees and beg for his words of mercy. Many did that, he thought, amused. Many even probably would pay to do such.

He sat back, grinning widely, but then the grin began to fall as his expression faded into thought, and then exasperation as he sighed deeply and looked down at himself. “Oh, what shall I do? My vest, my chest…” he dipped his finger into the small glass and then stuck it in his mouth, sucking off the wine in ponder. “Not to be absolutely certain is, I think, one of the essential things in rationality...Russell, was it?” he murmured under his breath to himself, and then nodded to confirm this. He tapped his fingers indecisively, and then he raised his head. “Model?” he repeated questionably, and then stood up, slamming his hands back onto the table. “That’s it!”

Whipping around, he leapt onto the table next to theirs gracefully, not really caring that two people were already seated and talking there. "I could prove God statistically, and to say this would mean victory itself, which I know like the back of my hand! People, my beautiful people, there is much pleasure to be gained from useless knowledge, so desire now a fitful train of thou - " he stopped midsentence, and burst out into giggles once more. "Ah, what am I blabbing? You idiots know nothing of what I'm saying! Woe is the simple mind, and worse is the mouth whose only companion is itself!"

[moonshaft]

Akaroth stared at him, hiding his astonishment that that man could even think of doing something so stupid. Either all the alcohol was getting to that polished brain of his, or he was actually trying to get everyone in the bar severely pissed at him so that he could receive even more attention. The small hairs on the back of Akaroth’s neck raised slightly as the whole bar fell silent, the large groups that stood near the bathrooms no longer exchanging small white bags and the band playing in the corner hushing their instruments with small twings and twangs. Akaroth shook his head slightly, truly this man had a good level of stupidity about him. No person with any common sense would call a bar full of drunken, possibly homicidal people idiots. The couple that the table currently belonged to merely stared at the man in shock, their mouths hanging wide and eyes bulging out of their sockets.

A rather burly looking man sat up off one of the bar stools, the tight leather jacket that barely fit over his overly masculine arms threatened to burst at the seams from the pressure he demanded by getting up to crack the large knuckles that dominated his hands. With a grunt, and a few pats on the back from his buddies, he slowly strutted his way over, his heavy black combat boots causing the wooden floorboards to squeak in hate and protest. The man reached up for a moment to scratch the bald spot that laid so inconspicuously atop his head, that the light from the ceiling making it shine delicately to everyone’s else’s eyes. Akaroth began to chew on the side of his cheek in interest as the bulky man came within inches of the other, his fat hands shaking in rage and fury.

“What the hell did you call me, punk? I don’t think you know who you’re messing with here.” He brought up a large arm roughly in the other’s face, shoving the tattooed design a blood red pentagram in his face. “I’m the leader of my little group, and me an’ my boys don’t like to be called idiots by some scrawny little twits who think they’re smart. So either you apologize, or I’m gonna have to spread your face all over that there wall.” The over grown fighter seemed rather pleased with his threat, while Akaroth only rolled his eyes. This was only going to get worse.

[kyros]

Perhaps the wine /was/ getting to that “polished” head, or maybe it was just his way of thinking. He couldn’t deny, not in a thousand years, ever accepting the fact that the people in this bar might actually have some intelligence left in them—of course, why would they be here, then? Were they not here looking for a Savior, a piece of mind to show them differently? That’s what he was made for, surely! To help the needy. And that’s what he was here to do.
Not a “good level of stupidity”, certainly not. Just a bite of arrogance, and a drop of naive view on the concept of bars, and the people in them. He’d studied and learned many, many things: sociology, history, literature, and a variety of colorful cultures, but never had he majored in the deeper parts of how one acted in a bar, much less a whole crowd! In the area that he used to live in, in Africa, they didn’t have many bars. That could be part of the reason why.

“I’m terribly sorry about you and your ‘boys’,” remarked the witty fellow, scratching the top of his head with a bit of mocking sadness. “Terribly sorry, sorry indeed!” he nodded to show proof of this apology. “Terribly sorry, that is, that your lack of usefulness in this world has dribbled down the drain probably more times than the first. Sorry that your head is oh so supplied with air at the moment, and many other moments, millions, that it might as well just burst right now. What pain you must be in,” he sighed sympathetically, shaking his head, as if someone had just exclaimed that they had just found out of a great loss in the family. In this man’s case, his brain. “But I’m also sorry to inform you that you’re not too keen on your facts, my good sir. For if you are speaking of myself, I know a great deal, and feign nothing, physical /nor/ mental!”
The cat man blinked, looking down to the burly human’s arm—and poked it with a nail, and a small smile. He examined the design on it carefully, his piercing eyes taking in every detail available. He was so transfixed that he didn’t even think of the fist shoving out to hit him in the face, which it most likely would have done. “Oh, are you Wiccan? That’s quite the peaceful religion you have there.”

[moonshaft]

Akaroth stared, for that was the only thing he could do whilst listening to that man rant on and on, once again calling everybody and everything in this small, and ever so slightly clean bar an idiot. How many times was he planning to insult everybody in the bar? He must have counted at least four or five remarks thrown so carelessly at the people around him, surely there was no thought that had been processed in that cat man’s mind, as he was babbling on and on, completely oblivious to the small band of men that were squeezing their glasses with anger. Akaroth took it that they had never been humiliated so badly, so smoothly that it took them a few minutes that process the long sentences used by their adversary and turn them into actions of revenge. His red gaze shifted once again towards the man, one side of him wanted to push him off the table and try to avoid a completely meaningless confrontation, while another side of him wanted to let the living hell be beaten into the man, so that maybe he would be able to learn how to act in a bar. Akaroth began to doubt that the creature on the table ever truly had any personal contact with people in his life, else he would know better than to express his every mind and feeling to a bunch of overly large men that had no problem with beating his face into the wall. Then again, that’s how some were, unafraid to voice themselves to matter what would or will happen to them in the long run.

The burly man stared in puzzlement at the creature he just threatened, the long and complicated sentence obviously confusing what little contemplation he had that didn’t have anything to do with smashing a lead pipe into someone’s head.
“What’re you talking about you pathetic runt?” He questioned with a clueless stare, his coal black stare gazing at the man on the table in hopes of whatever was just said would be explained to him bluntly. It was then that another man that had previously patted the others back stood up, the long rapier at his side rattling against the steel barstool and finally settling quietly at the man’s side as he walked towards the scene, his long and elegant sleeves brushing against his skin as he walked with a sort of elegant grace, the tips of his toes touching the polished wooden floors quietly and carefully. His thick, black hair was tied carefully into a ponytail, the edge thrown lazily over one shoulder.
“Boss,” he exclaimed softly, placing his hand on the balding man’s shoulder, the same mark scribbled hastily on the back of his hand, “he was insulting you, you know.” The headman puffed up angrily, a small vein in his red face threatening to pop.
“What’d you call me?!”

[kyros]

“Why, Wiccan, my good Sir!” replied the cat man without hesitation, blinking a few times as he glanced towards the man with the rapier. “You see that pentagram on your fist—oh yes, well, as you see, the points stand for air, water, fire—” He cut himself off as he noticed the clenched fists and hateful glares. ‘Wonder what I did terribly wrong?’ he pondered, but then merely shrugged it off. It wasn’t his fault people were so sensitive to the truth these days, and someone had to tell them sooner or later! Of course, he had to be the unlucky one, the unfortunate messenger, but he would sacrifice such for the sake of his adoring public, his people. No one else was ready to risk such a feat, surely!

He shifted lightly upon the table, stealing an occasional glance directed towards Akaroth’s way. What a sneer this man must have on his face! That smug look of his would probably sink in deeper, if it looked any less modest. What a heartless, white-haired moron, he thought mentally, and a bit angrily. This man wasn’t saying anything in agreement to him, and he /knew/ this man realized that it was true! He just wanted to save his own skin, his own very filthy hide, instead of telling these poor people their lowly fates in life. Sure, the people get mad…hell, he’d get a little puffed up too if he knew he was some stupid, worthless piece of nothing, dedicating and getting nothing back from the world. And what were they dedicating, you ask? Their stupidity, of course, so that his mind looked ever the greater. But they were his people, and he was the one who had to deal with them out of pure destiny.

“Now, if you will be so kind, my good Sirs,” he spoke up once more in a matter-of-fact tone, trying not to enrage the beast in front of him any longer. “I’ve a speech to continue, so take your seats and sit quietly like good little children as I express my most important opinions on this matter,” he nodded to confirm this, and pointed his head towards where the two had come from. “Run along, now!”
But, this man was not completely oblivious to the minds of the people in the bar, for he had studied psychology in his years and knew that when rage was picked up, it only grew wider with time. It was hard to put out, and he doubted that a few nice words would throw the water.
So he watched these two carefully, as well as the other people in the bar, his hands placed innocently behind his back. The nail on his index finger, already rather sharp to start with, began to grow and curl, as does a feline’s when they extend, or stretch. It grew and grew, slowly, until it was the full size of a wild cat’s claw, which, let me remind you, is rather big—how else would the predator bring down his prey? His paws are known for such. And so, the huge claw rested upon his one finger, as it twitched momentarily in eagerness, and he nodded once more to the men in indication to take their seats.

[moonshaft]

The coal eyes of the angered man seemed to empty into an abyss of blankness and confusion, his features softening in thought and puzzlement. He didn’t understand what his adversary had said…was he mentioning the gang he played servitude towards? Or was it something more, like a secret evil organization that plagues the minds of innocent people like himself? Reaching up with his shaking fingers, he caressed the blood red pentagram placed noticeably on his shoulder, determined to come up with something just as witty as what that stupid short man had said.
“Wiccan, eh?” True, he didn’t know what the hell “Wiccan” was, but he was determined to come up with something that proved that guy wrong, anything to make him sound like a complete and total idiot. His mouth parted slightly, his alcohol stained breath stinging Akaroth’s nose, his left eye squinting in disgust at the smell.
“You think yer so smart, don’t ‘cha?” He grumbled angrily, his eyes searching the cement ground below him for a brilliant comeback. “How would you know wha’ smart is? Yer so small that yer brain is proly the size of a peanut.” A small warmth engulfed the man’s chest, a big wave of satisfaction creeping from his chest to his face, causing a thick grin to complete the scene. Akaroth could see the large yellow-brown stains that covered the once white teeth, the stench of disease and liquor staining and eating at the inside of his nose. This man was an idiot on wheels, completely not knowing who, nor what he was talking to. Excluding the fact that that cat man near him was preparing for a lethal strike if need be, his disturbingly long nail partially catching Akaroth’s attention, causing him to shift slightly in his seat, his own fingers lightly brushing over his leg in preparation for a possible fight. Knowing the possible scene, and the idiotic biker in front of him, there was bound to be at least a small, if not noticeable attempt at a brawl.

The man with the saber shifted on the edge of his toes slightly, his eyes shifting from his oblivious leader, so the smart-mouthed man on the table. Reaching up to run a hand through his smooth black hair, the man felt a few small strands wrapping around his fingers as he ceased the action, his bright blue eyes searching the cat man’s face for any sign of uneasiness.
“Come now, it would be a pity if we didn’t give this little preacher time to talk us into sleep and boredom, wouldn’t it? Why you be a doll and sit down, take in a few more beers and enjoy the scenery?” There was mockery and a small sneer in his voice, one of his eyes slightly narrowed in observation of both Akaroth and the other. Akaroth could feel him staring, so he turned his own blood red gaze on him and stared back, his small pupils closing in on the other’s eyes, capturing his attention completely. After a few moments, the stranger looked away, a small smirk spreading across his face.
“What is this? Is this rather…dirty looking man looking out for the smart one? Aww, how sweet.” It was hard for Akaroth to prevent himself from bulleting off his chosen seat and begin telling him off rather quickly, which would only conclude to the already predicted fight. A low snarl emitted from his throat as he watched them, a small feeling of tightness beginning to form in his chest and feet.

[kyros]

Tightness? Surely not in this man's chest! He was utterly amused at how awfully idiotic the public can really be, and these two blunderheads were only proving his well-known theory, or as he would call it, fact.
"I think I am fairly knowledgeable, but one can always gain more!" he replied matter-of-factly. "And the size of one's brain does not measure the capacity, now does it, my good fellow?" he tested with a few small giggles of his own, grinning from ear to ear at this enormous man in front of him, who obviously could not take in a few, fairly educated words that were over four letters long. After all, that's what a fool's vocabulary mainly consisted of, did it not? Four letter words and below? Oh, he'd have to check up one that. Read a few more books on psychology...maybe they had a Stupidity Chapter? “My size, as well, brother,” he continued. “Also does not determine the way in which my brain works – why, if that were the case, I’d say a majority of the tall people in this world wouldn’t be so tall anymore!” Even a bird was more sensible than some of its larger, stronger companions of the animal kingdom. He highly doubted that size affected the process of thought or lack thereof.

“And is it a crime to think of myself as decently well-informed? I mean, us cat folk – “ he shut his mouth then, abruptly, blinking a few times and looking upwards to the ceiling. Hm. Perhaps he shouldn’t mention such information, especially in a place such as this. “That is, us folk who act as cats do, our tails up, our pride cherished, our strides graceful upon the surface of a wooden fence’s pointy tips, are very sensitive about our facts. We can’t help to think any less, you see.” His grin broadened then, a kind of satisfied expression; indeed, all this was true, and he could say as much without totally giving away that he actually had feline blood in him. Plus, it was all just fun and games, was it not? He was just here to have a swell time…maybe study the common ways a bit more, as he was doing right at this very moment. The public’s reputation was obviously on the wrong side at the moment – what a poor model of the universal people, how unfortunate that this lug chose to step up to bat. Oh well! Three strikes and the heavier they are, the harder they fall! He thought rather cheerfully, leaping from the table he stood upon onto the booth where he had talked to the white-haired man earlier. Now he was standing atop the table of that booth, and there he dropped to a cross-legged sitting position, the happy smirk never seeming to vanish from his features.

“Oh, but don’t fall asleep between my words just yet,” he snapped smartly to the lean man beside the gang’s leader. “You might actually learn something of importance.” This man seemed to have an attitude on him, Kyros thought, studying his face closely. He was not as stupid as the larger brute proved to be, although the cat-man could deal with a little challenge, if need be. “Oh, and don’t you know?” he piped up, swinging an arm around Akaroth’s shoulders momentarily and then letting go to tap the dirty werewolf’s nose briefly. He then drew back to his sitting position on the table. “We’re a couple of notorious tricksters, you see? Brothers, in explanation. My disciple, my partner in breaking the crime of ignorance!” he let a loud laugh burst. “Ah yes, you see – I’m the preacher as you so rightfully dubbed me, going around to tell you of your naughty deeds…study, study, study!” and with that he shook a mocking finger towards the saber man. “And my dear partner, right here…yes, he is the one who clobbers anyone who disobeys. Works out quite well, really!”

[moonshaft]

Clobber him? Akaroth twitched an eye in agitation at the one next to him, a small twinge of anger filling his eyes and senses, a part of him wanting to take down the cat-like man on the table and shove him into the loving arms of the angered gang member in front of them, the very thought of him becoming this…things lackey was beginning to disgust him to no end. The bald man reached up to scratch his hard head in thought, his fingernails creating long red lines as he went. With a puzzled twitched, he turned to look at his loyal companion, his coal eyes searching his face desperately for an answer to the dilemma he was so violently thrown into. Surely, this snot of a man didn’t know what he was talking about, he was only throwing words around like he actually knew what he was talking about, when in truth, he didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. Yes, yes, that’s it, that must be the right answer. A small grin spread across the face of the no longer bewildered man, his bulky arms crossing over his large chest in another attempt to look intimidating.

“Dunno what the hell yer talkin’ ‘bout little man, but yer little mind games dun work on me I’ll have you know.” There was pride in his voice, his eyes slanted with happiness, “so don’t even try and pull any’er that weird witchcraft stuff on me.” The bald man nodded with satisfaction, the edge of his tongue running ever so lightly against the front of his teeth, then over his chapped lips, the dried skin beginning to peel off and follow his tongue back into the dark abyss from which it came. The small twinge of tightness coursed through Akaroth’s chest once more as he watched the scene unfold before him, his eyes watching both the bald one’s companion, but also the one who so lovingly made that loving remark about him. That man had no right to go and begin to rant on how Akaroth would “clobber” anyone who wouldn’t listen to his rants and stories, he didn’t know what or whom he was talking to or about. For all this man knew, Akaroth was a Slayer who was finding a suitable creature to fill the end-of-the-day quota.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t true, and he was stuck here in between a man who noted the cat-like habits of his family, and a burly bald gang leader who probably couldn’t pass a sixth grade reading exam. Akaroth red gaze flickered towards his follower for a moment, the fact that he mentioned cats and their habits so carefully in front of the large crowds was beginning to draw his attention, his wording changing ever so slightly to cover up what was almost said. With a light growl as slowly crawled its way up his throat, Akaroth removed one hand from a pocket and placed it on the table, while the other clasped slowly around the cold, metal handle of a small pocket knife he kept ready in case worst came to worst. He could feel the concealed blade call for it to be shown, for its sharpened edges to be jabbed into the soft, penetrable skin of those around him. But, unfortunately, this was neither a time to be screaming violence, nor waving a seven and a half inch blade around in other’s face, not the smartest thing to do in a bar where everyone is watching your every move, practically waiting for you to breath the wrong way so that they could attack you with “good reason”.

The man with the saber blinked once or twice before shifting his weight to his right foot, everything leaning on his toes.
“It appears as though our little mysterious man bases himself off an animal of the wild. What a pity, perhaps they don’t like you copying and modeling their ways, have yu ever thought of that my dear, dear friend?”

[kyros]

Kyros blinked quite thoughtfully towards the saber-man, half of his face’s expression flooded with ponder and the other half drowned in confusion. Why, he couldn’t guess as to why the wild cat wouldn’t want to be compared to him, when he was almost exactly the same – but ah, then he remembered that these people only knew he was modeling after one. “I speak to you with full truth, my brother,” he shifted his attention to the leader of their sorry excuse for a gang. Physical strength could obviously work to an extent, and then the barrier would forbid it anymore. Physical strength, at the moment, was not needed in this type of battle. “Full truth and nothing more, I say. Why would I tell you anything different? What else is there to tell? I ask you questions, you give me answers. Witchcraft is not what I gave you in real, solid form, but what I gave you questionably. Why, then, do you criticize me, brother?” he shrugged his shoulders tiredly. “Why do you always comment that I think I know what I talk about? I do not think I know, because if I thought that, then I would not know, but I do, and I do think that I don’t think that I know, but that I do!” After this mouth full of words he took a breath and nodded his head to confirm this statement.

He then looked back to the henchman. “Well, my dear, dear friend,” he sneered back sarcastically. “I do think they’d be rather flattered to learn it. They, a model I, myself, chose to image after! Don’t you think it rather touching?” he then paused for a moment, studying the thin man with narrowed eyes. “Hm. Perhaps not if you were the admirer. Now that would be pure pity in itself!” and he chuckled heartily at this, feeling for his glass of wine on the table, but not being able to find it. Hm. He really needed a drink or two at the moment. “They’d probably be extremely disappointed. I mean, come now…who wouldn’t be?”

And with this, he sat up straight on the table, stealing a glance Akaroth’s way. His “partner in the crime of ignorance” didn’t seem all that flattered, nor satisfied, or even happy to say the least. He looked…well, angry. And why would that be? Kyros scrunched up his face briefly, trying to think of why this might be the case. Well, even if he was judging this poor, white-haired man, it was all just for show. He did not know this dirty creature, nor did he stumble around with him fighting the evils of stupidity. Oh, no! Kyros did that on his own, and needed no help in doing it. But apparently this partner of his did not like the idea of clobbering—he’d have to deal with it a little longer. And hopefully, Kyros added mentally, this man would not see the need to kill him after this little quarrel in the bar. After all, Kyros had a hard enough time looking over his shoulder every other moment of the day, and even more occasional during the night. He didn’t need yet another hateful and jealous stalker added to the long list of names, oh no.

“But I can see,” Kyros exclaimed aloud once more, continuing the conversation directed towards the members of the gang, mainly the thinner, smarter one. “That talk gets us nowhere. You obviously cannot sit on your tails and open your ears to the words of a great speaker. You must speak yourselves, and therefore spoil the speech for everyone else. You must talk and talk and talk and only look duller by doing so. Furthermore,” he ran his long nail across the table behind him, a smirk curling his lips smugly. “You must stand there and preach yourselves on how numb in the mind I am, when you are the ones doing most of the endless talking! Pathetic, wretched, feeble! Futile, weak, tedious!
“And you know what else?” Kyros let a dramatic, short silence follow after almost completing his amused and teasing response. “You make me laugh.”

[moonshaft]

So many words, so many long and drawn out sentences were floating through the large, empty space that the leader of the band called a head, his mind refusing to comprehend anything that his adversary had said. Instead, it only insisted on thinking of a way to smash the cat-man’s head into the cement wall near them and break all of his limbs like twisty-ties. With a grunt, he tried to resist scratching his forehead in confusion, only to divert his hand towards his nose, one finger scratching the outside, whilst the another scratched the inside. Akaroth watched with disgust, a part of him wanting badly to twist his face and snap at the man that this was a public place, and NOBODY wanted to see him pick his overly large nose. But he doubted any of them would listen to him. After all, he was in the presence of a man who was instigating and practically begging to land a large slash across their face with his still extended nail, which at this point he considered a make-shift claw since the point was dangerously sharp. What a day to pick to waltz into a over crowded bar, his original intentions being, of course, to simply wait until something interesting happened and watch the outcome. Or, perhaps the one who promised to meet him would actually decide to show up? As time continued to pass, he began to doubt that thought.

He watched as a hand of the man near him groped behind him for a few moments, his fingers probing the wooden table in search of something, but what, Akaroth couldn’t tell. It was then that he noticed the barely touched glass of wine laying innocently near Akaroth, its very essence sending off a wave of uneasiness down his shoulders and spine. Not many good things happened when a person consumed that rather…strong beverage, often times mistakes happen that cannot, and never will be fixed with a simple apology. For instance, a fight, or even worse, the look a drunk man gives the beautifully curved dancer who’s been eyeing him since he walked through the door. Alcohol was never the most popular things on his list of things to consume, but who could fight the masses that practically begged for it? With an mental sigh, and a sense of strong regret, Akaroth lifted his left hand, and placed the end of his finger on the glass, the cold condensation on the outside sending another chill down his back. With a regretful push, he glass slide effortlessly towards the cat-man, the glass slightly nudging his leg, and a few droplets falling onto the wooden table. Oops.

The man with the saber let out a loud and confident laugh, making his leader jump, his fingers jamming halfway up his nose.
“I make you laugh?” He questioned through giggles, ignoring the yowls of pain from the bald man next to him, a small trickle of blood becoming visible as it slid over his lips and jutted chin. With a half whimper, the man wiped the blood away and discarded the unwanted liquid on the bottom of his shirt, all the while his eyes shifted around the room, making sure no one saw him during his rather embarrassing moment. “Oh, but my cat-like friend, it is you who makes me laugh. You see, unlike this brainless idiot next to me—”
“Hey!” The leader yelled angrily, puffing himself up so that he resembled an angry dog trying to look bigger than it was. “I’m yer boss, you ‘ave no right ter say somthin’ like that. You’re part of me boys, and me boys do what I say!” The dark haired man rolled his eyes, his teeth clenched in frustration.
“And what a brilliant leader you make,” his gaze shifted towards his adversary once more, “I am not as dense, nor as stupid. What brings a man who knows his surroundings to a place where one comes to drown themselves in the loving kisses of the loving red maiden, brother?” The end of his question was a copy of the other’s sneer, his dark eyes watching both his enemy and Akaroth with amusement.

[kyros]

“/Obviously/ you are as stupid, even though you claim otherwise,” Kyros sneered with a shrug of his own. “After all, your idiocy shines towards the fact that you still follow this “brainless idiot”, declaring him your leader. And what is intelligence to a follower if the follower is merely just that? A shadow in the presence of a much larger, more important figure, known as boss? You are a follower, and a specific mindset is placed. Follow, follow, follow.” He let out a chuckle, fingers turning the little glass ‘round and ‘round, playing with the feel of the smooth outer layer as he sipped a teeny bit more. “I’m so sorry that that’s all you’ve known…though I can’t be too apologetic. You were probably born for the role.”

Swirling the remaining of his drink in the wine glass, he yawned, reaching out his hand nonchalantly and splashing the rest into the saber man’s face. He then shot a small grin to Akaroth and tossed the glass with a hard throw so that it collided with the leader’s face and almost shattered completely. “Because the girls in Africa aren’t as pretty,” he replied to the last comment with yet another amused laugh. “The ‘loving kisses’, as you call them, can often times be very deceiving, and yet I come crawling back, having a desire to learn, a longing to observe these people around me. Such a red maiden can seduce me as much as she wants – but the maiden of wisdom will always have me wrapped around her fingertips.” He sighed, the soft ‘padding’ of his palm providing a resting place for his chin, where he leaned against it, his arm supporting it fully, his eyes gazing out past the two rogues in front of him. He spoke of these maidens as if they were real, solid females, and yet he spoke about them metaphorically – such are the words of a scholar. Such are the words of a distant poet.

“But then again,” he added with a wry smirk curling. “My people back home always said I was quite the ‘Ladies’ Man’.” And he said this half sarcastically, and half entertained as he shifted his eyes back to the two, now in focus. He knew the white-haired man beside him was probably growing rather interested in this whole situation, and he could almost feel the other leaning forward in wonder of what would happen next. He always seemed to get himself into the tightest of situations – but then again, he always seemed to slip out of them just as cleanly, just as a lean feline should. Would the odd, scarred man push himself into this quarrel? It didn’t seem so. The dirty bum liked minding his own business, Kyros noticed rather clearly. Was he just going to sit there and gawk or was he going to try to help out? The man didn’t seem to take favor in either side – himself, the intellect, /or/ the morons who insisted challenging his mind’s limits and ego.

“So, you see,” Kyros continued in a persuading manner. “I came here in search of my dear colleague, and here we are! How unfortunate that I had to get all distracted with my examining and my bird-watching!” he shook his head in mock shame and sat back, sighing, staring at the dampened face of the saber man and then to the other, who most likely had suffered from the crash of the glass. How painful, Kyros though silently, but mentally burst into giggles at the thought. That’s what they get. Punishment must be given to those who do not know their place. He waited for some kind of response that might be suddenly and noisily given by his two opposing ‘enemies’. His clawed finger twitched in anticipation. Oh, how it longed to dig into flesh and drink the blood of poor targeted victim! He was not a blood-thirsty kitty, not in the least extent. Maybe in a way, but there were many ways. He’d leave the ripping and barking to the simple-minded dogs.
And out of pure curiosity, the cat-man whirled, leaning on his side now and staring directly into Akaroth’s gaze with cat-eyes, his expression questioning as to what the white-haired man would do next.

[moonshaft]

As the glass collided with the thick, slightly tanned skin of the muscled man, his face contorted with pain, his nose throbbing and a small fragment of glass embedded in his lip. He watched with astonished eyes as the glass hit the floor, the small piece that had so conveniently chipped off causing a slight sting in the exposed skin, his bottom lip beginning to swell in an attempt to stop the foreign object from completely invading it. The man could feel a small prickle at the edge of his eyes as he glared at the cup, the saber man next to him holding back a large grin as he wiped the remainder of the red liquid off his face, the wine staining a few patches in his skin and clothes, a thin river traveling crookedly down his neck and into the confines of his shirt. He barked a laugh as he felt the wine trickle over his built abdomen, placing his hand slowly over the silver hilt of his saber. He, himself, begged to fight the man that insulted him so willingly in front off all the witnessing eyes. He fought the urge to draw the silver blade and part of the skin of his enemies face, too see the blood run down his carved features and leave a memorial scar. But the invisible binds of “a loyal henchman” kept his sword and crippled pride at bay, his temper beginning to rise at his leader’s incapability to think and do things for himself.

The leader only continued to stare, fighting to keep at bay every emotion that spilled into his brain like a cup full of water falling to the floor. That man, he dared hit him? He dared hit an innocent man that was only trying to make a living in life? His teeth chattered as he looked up, his white of his eyes glossed over ever so slightly. Words betrayed him in the presence of this…this thing that seemed to know what you were going to say, and the loopholes and faults of everything you were saying and thinking. Just what was he anyway, some kind of monster? Holding back a large knot in his throat, he glanced over towards his companion, who was staring at the one on the table with a maddened gaze, a large smirk crawling ever so slowly across his face, straight yet slightly stained teeth visible through his thin lips. The leader’s lips throbbed again as the glass piece made an attempt to drive deeper into the venerable skin. Holding back a loud whimper, he removed the glass from his lip, the sight of the blood on the clear object sending his stomach into a fit of fury and anger. He had never had a problem with the sight of blood before, what was wrong with him? It must be the presence of that guy, he must be doing things to him, working some kind of magic or something.

He stared down at the piece of glass, a small burning sensation beginning in his chest and crawling upwards towards his throat, the prickling feeling in his eyes were gone now, and the pain in his lip was slowly beginning to diminish, thanks to the wonderful adrenaline that was starting to kick in. The anger had reached his fingers now, and with a growl of anger and frustration, his fingers clasped onto the sharpened ends of the fragile object, the jagged ends splitting the thick skin that dominated his fingers, a few droplets of blood staining the glass and the rest of his clean looking skin. A vein popped in his temple, his left eyes bulging out of his sockets in an attempt to keep at bay the bubbling anger, his swollen tongue barely able to keep its place as it begged its owner to lash out at the world before him, tell off the ingrates that dared even be in his presence.

Akaroth could feel a new set of eyes upon him as he shifted his gaze from the leader of the group, whose face was now turning an entertaining shade of purple, to the cat-man next to him, his own red eyes locking onto the strange animal-like gaze in front of him. The look was questioning, but, what could he do? No, why would he do anything? He had no quarrel with the idiotic gang members in front of him, nor with the intelligent, yet persistent one next to him. He was considering to silently bid his farewells to the scene in front of him, although, in truth, the current events were beginning to amuse him. A sudden roar of anger caused him to break eye contact with the questioning creature near him and snap his gaze onto the glass piece, which was now embedded crookedly on the table in front of him. His eyes trailed upwards from the glass piece, to the men, who were now staring at him silently, their eyes filled with both madness and an eagerness to fight.
“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” The leader called out, his beefy hands flexing in an attempt to look intimidating, while the saber man leaned all his weight on his toes, a malicious grin on his face and his fingers ready to slide the blade from its sheath. He could still feel the cat-man’s gaze on him, and with a silent sigh of both defeat and boredom, he looked back at the one next to him, his eyes half closed tiredly. He wasn’t going to be able to squeeze his way out of staying silent forever, and with a twitching claw ready to slice the skin, he doubted he was even going to be able to escape the current scene without getting dragged into another event unwillingly. With a twitch of his eye he parted his dry, slightly chapped lips ever so slightly, the inside of his mouth barely visible through the small crack.
“Your fight is with him, but don’t cry when your face is split open.” His voice was hoarse and cracked, as though he hadn’t used it in years. He watched the leader’s eyes somewhat widen, his hand rising upwards to make it look like he was scratching his eyebrow, and when it lowered, Akaroth noticed that the slight gloss had magically disappeared. He glanced at the man next to him from the corner of his eye, giving him the next move.

[kyros]

With a wry smile curling, one of both sardonic taste and true longing, the eager cat-man let his eyes flicker from the overly large leader to the smaller, leaner henchman. That one got on his nerves quite a bit, trying to act like he didn’t care any. Kyros knew better. Kyros knew he was getting to him—after all, the man /was/ following this guy, who was hardly anything worth a scholar’s time. The saber man couldn’t have been too smart himself for doing such things. And yet…he seemed—or acted, rather—to be amused by all of this, with his giggles and his smiles and his stupid mocking comments. Ah, yes…this cocky little cat had the overwhelming urge to scrape his starving claws all along that snickering face, give that man just what he wanted. Give him just what he asked for. It would only be fair, wouldn’t it? After all, he could not disappoint his public fans, even if they were unappreciative and selfish.

Even so, though, he could also see the scarred man beside him eyeing his victim. He looked from one to the other, knowing that these two created an electric current between them, either out of adoration or out of wariness. He didn’t think it was the first, though nothing was impossible, he mentally added. The point was that they didn’t look too happy, staring at each other. Hmph! This white-haired guy was trying to steal his scratching post…but then again, perhaps his ‘buddy in ignorance and crime’ should take the henchman. He was much more of a leader type, himself…always go for the ones on top. They were the core of it all! The one beam supporting the tent! There was no other way to go. This red-eyed bum had the annoying, saber using moron, so it was only logical that he go for the other. The muscled and almost teary-eyed chief of the lot.

Kyros rubbed his hands together, fast, fast, as if smoke would spout and a fire would illuminate from his fiery palms, but unfortunately neither the smoke nor the blaze happened and so he jerked up his hand, all five nails now the size of the first one, all of them curling and long and looking rather dangerous, if dangerous was the word to use. He let his hand linger in the air for a moment longer, only a brief, striking moment, before he whipped down his hand and slashed the sharp miniature knives across the leader’s face, diagonal so that they scraped from the side of the chin (towards the jaw line) all the way to the other side of the forehead. It was a quick scratch, but he wouldn’t let it merely sting. He took his other hand, raised it—now identical to his other—and sliced it across the other way, deeper this time though not at all slower. It probably tingled, but it would take a few minutes for the pain to really sink in. The shock was present, so the terrible ache at that moment would be absent until the light throbbing wore off.

“I’ll ‘get your tongue’,” Kyros sneered as he lowered his back, now looking like a predator in stalking position. “Cat’ll get your tongue /real/ nice and easy.” And with this, he only took a fleeting glance towards Akaroth to let him know that he should attack, so he, Kyros, wouldn’t have to deal with the saber-man in advance, and he lunged at the leader, his body seeming to lose all of its human traits, hands no longer hands, skin no longer skin. Kyros was not a posing feline, a ‘wannabe’, or anything of the sort. He was now a streaking desert lynx, some characteristics looking like his human self, though most completely altered. He had aimed for the leader’s chest, smack dab in the middle, his attempt to knock over the man somewhat risky, though he dared to do it anyways. His mouth slowly opened with a low, threatening hiss, his whiskers and fur making him look somewhat ‘cuddly’, though his claws, teeth, and eyes telling otherwise. It was true that Kyros was more of a thinker than a fighter—that was already confirmed and very, very to the point—though at times his haughtiness (and betterness!) got the worst of him and he had to result to conclusions such as this. No worries, no problems! It would just be a very big pain when he turned back to his original state…that is, if he turned back to his original state. The thought of dying in this brawl was very much out of the question to Kyros, though that didn’t mean that it couldn’t happen. He just had the confidence that it wouldn’t, and sometimes his confidence blinded realistic situations, smart as he may be. He hadn’t switched to this form in a long while…two years at the least, maybe even more. Not since he was in Africa or Egypt, when he used to change all of the time. Not since the old days. People in the United States, he had figured, didn’t think it godly or breathtaking or grand to see such thinks—they thought of it as a monstrosity. Sometimes, it was true, he missed his old home. At least most of the people there respected him. He didn’t need to bloody up his public so that they could look upon him as something special, as he was, indeed! Perhaps the American citizens had grown blind to obvious things because of their television sets and their radios and their speeches of the individual? Did they not live under the rule of an individual? Old and gray and probably senile as well, he might add. These Americans were such odd creatures.

Snapping back from his thoughts, Kyros looked down to the boss and let out yet another hiss, a short one this time that really didn’t pose much menace, and began to paw his way through the man’s face, claws and all, trying to get his claws to cut through the lips and receive the tongue. It’d be nice if this guy opened his big mouth again. That’d make the problem a lot easier on Kyros’s part. Though, Kyros knew all too well that very few things were rarely easy, and even those took at least a little effort, and so he leaned forward to apply pressure, not only digging but tearing at the face of the human being below him.

[moonshaft]

There was a strange silence in the bar now. Many pairs of eyes gazing down at the ripped up man both with hunger and excitement, a familiar flame burning in their gaze, the large group itched to fight, silently begging the large feline to join in the bloody mess. The large, burly man was frozen in terror, his dark black eyes seemingly frozen to the creature in front of him, the ends of his fingers twitching repeatedly as though he wanted to move, to shove the giant fur ball from atop him, yet could not gather the strength to even scream for help. He could feel his skin beginning to shred from its chosen place, the open wounds throbbing and pulsating as a hard, unknown substance tore through its soft barrier. The blood ran freely down his chin and neck, the thick liquid feeling like hot water, the small stream traveling freely across the bare, pale plane of his neck.

But how? How did that man…no, how did that thing transform like that?! He had heard stories from men that had joined under his wing many times, tales of strange creatures that could change shape and hunt you through the night. Of course, he would have to beat them into submission for even mentioning such ridiculous things. Making attempts to try and rule over the turf that he had so rightly claimed was one thing, but you had better do it bluntly, and not make up some stupid story in hopes that the leader would get nervous and flee the town. But this…how would he explain this? How would he ever be able to return to the loving arms of his gang without them laughing at him and call him a stupid bastard, as he so many times did to them. No, they wouldn't do that, he was their leader. They were supposed to care for them as if he was their own father, a loving man who would do anything. Okay, fine, that wasn't exactly true, but this monster had no right to attack him like that! He didn't do anything wrong! He closed his eyes, trying desperately to gulp down the pain as he tried to think of a way out of the mess he didn't deserve to be in. After all, he was nothing but a misunderstood bystander. A loud, rhythmic pounding began in his head as soon as he began to think, his mind dancing to the invisible drums as he clenched his teeth as hard as he could, determined not to let that stupid cat get to his precious tongue. After a few moments of trying to reassure himself that the weirdo on top of him would not succeed in his goal, he swerved his eyes towards his partner, who was staring at the giant cat in both astonishment and uncertainty, pondering on whether or not to attack the mutant cat on top of his leader, or go for the white-haired freak who was sitting calmly on the table, probably staring at him with those weird red eyes. The bald man threw a silent plea his way, his eyes begging for his most loyal right hand man to step forwards and take away the monster that was having a blast atop his precious face. The saber man raised a brow in both confusion and interest, wishing that the cat would have gone for him instead, but, beggars can’t be choosers.

With a regrettable half sigh, he turned to face the white haired man, his right hand flying towards his sheathed saber as his eyes locked on to his adversaries, trying to find his “inner motive”. The white haired man only rolled his eyes regrettably, wondering how the hell he got dragged into this when the only thing that he wanted to do in the first place was to watch from a distance, but no, with his luck he was dragged head first into a conflict started by that shape shifter. Although, the form of a cat was slightly expected, he didn’t expect him to completely shift and tear the burly man’s face off. Changing his gaze to his now impatient target, his red eyes landed on the long, unsheathed saber and hesitated slightly at the blades design. The thin blade let off a slight glimmer as the bar light shined on its surface, the glint of silver and iron visible from Akaroth’s perspective. Great, he couldn’t get off easily and shrug off whatever this guy could throw at him. No, he was actually going to feel this in the morning. With a regrettable sigh, he leaned forwards, his body slowly sliding off the polished table and landing on the floor below him, his adversary beginning to fume with impatience. Akaroth tensed himself in preparation for the man to thrust that stupid sword in his direction when he noticed another rather burly man get up off his bar stool, dig through a red backpack near him, and retrieve a rather thick club from the pack. He was going to make an attempt to deal a blow to the back of the cat and relieve his boss from the unrelenting pain. What a fool. Akaroth thought with amusement, his eyes diverting from his attacker momentarily.
“Hey! You should pay attention when someone is about to kill you!” The man yelled threateningly and took a step forwards, the tip of the blade even with Akaroth’s nose.
“I am paying attention.” Akaroth stated bluntly, his half-closed eyes riveting back towards the attacker. Feeling as though his pride had been torn, the man thrust forwards as thought he was fencing, the edge of the blade tearing through Akaroth’s shirt sleeve as he ducked down, the tip skimming the skin of his arm. A satisfied smirk crawled across his face quickly, his ego bathing in satisfaction that he as least scratched the freak. Letting out a growl of frustration, the hairs on the back of Akaroth’s neck raised slightly as he scampered across the floor quickly towards his opponent, stopping just below his outstretched arm. He could feel his upper arm muscles rearrange themselves slightly as he brought his first up on the straightened elbow, a sickening crack indicating his goal had been hit, and the arm was now unusable. The man screeched and squealed in pain, his grip on the sword loosening, and body falling backwards in an overdramatic fall as his saucer-like eyes were glued onto his bent-the-wrong-way arm.
Akaroth light swerved his fingertips on the ground in an attempt to keep his balance, a few snapping noises from the bones in his own arm announcing the reconstruction to better fit the demanded strength. Keeping his teeth clenched to suite with the pain of his arm, he placed his left hand in front of him, his fingers curved upwards as his nails hardened and grew ever so slightly in length. The sword less man continued to howl death threats and promises to kill him as he laid on the top of one of the tables, his broken arm shaking frantically as he lightly touched the large, swollen area. Akaroth could hear other men on the farthest part of the bar yell amongst themselves of helping out, while others scampered for the door, in a hurry to leave the fight, and from the giant cat tearing away at the gang leader’s face.

[kyros]

As the length of his curled claws dug deeper into the flesh of this opposing man, the core of his throat began to rumble in a satisfied, sonorous purr. Morbid this looked; an overly grown wild cat clinging to the man's face, a nice, maganimious sound emitting from him as he lifted and sunk his paws in continuously, like a housecat does when making a bed in the middle of thick blankets and sheets.
He released his claws from their hold, dropping to the ground with a thump and mewing under his breath. He turned around and looked up at the club man with wide cat-eyes, slipping through his legs and leaping up to snatch onto the man's behind with his useful razors. His ears folded back aggessively, though his satisfied face and half-lidded expression did not reveal such. He flicked his eyes back to the red-headed man, staring for a moment as he hung off his foe's butt, another loud purr slipping out loudly.