2/8/2003

05:19 PM

Logfile from Ichijin.

 

Luna's

To be honest, this place is little more than a hole in the wall. The lighting is dimmed, and not for any romantic notion, but because it is poorly installed into the cracked and peeling walls. The red leather on the benches in the booths are obviously worn, and a few have some minor tears and rips in their surface. Tiny white tiles mark the floor, and they are so badly scratched that no amount of wax will make them look presentable. The more servicable tables are covered in white tablecloths, with wooden chairs that seem less than reliable, drawn up to their borders.

But the food is exquisite. The grandmother of the owner comes every morning to the restaurant herself and makes the sauces to be used throughout the day. Old home Italian cooking, right here in NYC. It doesn't get any better than this.

Garanto is here.

Obvious exits:

Exit

 

Garanto

Barely reaching five and a half feet in height, his slight frame does not suggest much in the way of strength or power, instead retaining the willowy build of adolescence despite his age. Pallid flesh seems brushed with ashen highlights, accentuating the powdery grey of his hollow eyes and the sensuality of his bloodless lips. The enticingly boyish face is framed by wispy tendrils of silky darkness intermingled with streaks of silver-blue -- the unusual coloration appears entirely natural, not the product of artifice. Slender limbs and delicate fingers enhance the sense of porcelain fragility, yet there is still an undefinable sense of surprising spirit hidden somewhere beneath the vulnerable exterior.

Soft folds of a black cotton knit sweater embrace his upper torso and arms, terminating in a loose cuff at each wrist, while alterations have shortened its length to leave much of his chest and midriff bare. Dark leather trous comfortably envelop his legs, flaring at the ankles to drape over the tops of calf-high black military boots. Wrapped thrice around his neck before trailing down his back to entwine twice more about his waist is a narrow chain of polished steel, each link perhaps a fingersbreadth in width, standing out in stark contrast against the black fabric and pale skin.

Garanto appears to be 19 years, 8 months, and 2 days old.

He is awake, but has been staring off into space for a minute.

 

Rathan quietly sits at a back table, chatting conversationally with a young, plump waitress, an easy smile and pleasant laugh offered in response to some joke or flirting remark.  As soon as the woman turns her back, however, the emotions seem to literally drain away, leaving a passive, expressionless young man idly picking at a plateful of spaghetti.

 

And not all that far off from Rathan is Sebastian. The young man is settled within a booth, angle-hair pasta in a pesto seemingly to be the order of the day. Amusement flirts in his eyes as the man scans down a sheet of paper, scratching a pen over something on it with an almost vicious stroke. Just after, hand lifts to garner the attention of the waitress, "Another water."

 

For unknown reasons, Rathan has been edgy and uncomfortable for the past few weeks.  Quite unusual for someone who is usually difficult to ruffle.  Perhaps it is this built-up tension that causes him to drop his fork.  It clatters loudly upon the floor, spattering bits of red sauce in all directions.  A slight sigh is the man's immediate response, followed by a quick glance around the area to make certain no one was decorated by the spaghetti sauce.

 

Amazing how things like that happen. Oni meeting through spaghetti sauce. Clearly the boar has some sense of humor in the little things. It is the clatter that draws Seb's attention from his 'work'. A moment, and then he is leaning to the side to peer down at the floor, from the fork and on to his shoes. Uhm. Green-irised gaze continues along it's path to watch Rathan with something a bit less then being amused. One brow quirks, and that is all.

 

Upon spying the red dots besmirching a pair of /very/ expensive shoes, Rathan quickly looks up to examine the man wearing the loafers.  A very apologetic smile spreads across his face, banishing the blankness.  "Umm... pardon me, good sir.  I am so /very/ sorry."  Taking the napkin from his table, he slips out of his chair to kneel on the floor, picking the offending fork up and setting it on the edge of his plate before inching closer to Sebastian.  "It should come right off, fortunately.  I promise to have your shoes looking spotless and brand-new in just a moment."  He doesn't yet lean forward towards the footwear, however.  best to first see how the other man responds to his words and actions.

 

Sebastian's gaze is almost disinterested for almost the longest time as he watches Rathan. You know, the sort of look that a cook gives a fly that is wandering a little too close to her cream puffs. But in the next breath, he is smiling warmly, almost benevolent. "Oh, don't fret at all. These sort of things happen all the kind. After all, just the other day, I lost a fine set of boots to some rather impressive electrical discharges. These things happen."

 

The warmth is mirrored in Rathan's return expression.  "At least permit me to clean the spots off.  I feel terribly for interrupting your meal with my clumsiness."  Now he does lean forward far enough to gingerly dab at the polished leather.  As suggested, the sauce does indeed come off quite easily.  "Is there anything else I could do in recompense, sir?  I fear I don't have the money to buy your meal for you, but I could at least get you a drink."

 

Sebastian blinks as the young man actually reaches for his shoes to wipe them off. "What are you.." he nearly hisses, arm extending out to take Rathen's wrist in his long-fingered grip. Of course, seeing as it is rather warm in the restaurant, Seb' jacket is draped over the bench, and even his shirt is rolled up to just shy of the elbows. You can also put up quite a sweet analyzing financial statistics. But just as the young man grabs hold of Rathan, something flares to life on the inside of his arm. Wow... would you look at that pretty fiery-orange symbol that suddenly glows when coming in contact with the other. "Damn."

 

No answering flare is visible from any of Rathan's exposed flesh, but his eyes do widen abruptly in response to first the firm grasp and then the character's appearance.  "You have one, too," he lets slip in a quiet, bewildered voice before taking hold of himself again.  His arm goes limp in Sebastian's grasp.  "I meant no offense, sir.  I merely wished to undo the damage I had caused."  The surprise in his gaze quickly transforms to doe-like innocence before his graze eyes are downcast towards the floor, his posture assuming a submissive quality.

 

Sebastian is scowling, heavily, and looking not at all pleased with the circumstances. But, Rathan is awarded a closer look, one that is far more assessing. He release Rathan, gaze light, instead gesturing with that hand for him to seat across with him. "Don't worry about the shoes. Please... join me. Tell me though -you've one as well?"

 

The kneeling man had apparently been hoping the other hadn't caught his words.  He opens his mouth to begin a denial about the comment, perhaps to suggest Sebastian had misheard him, but his jaw closes again almost immediately.  He has already seen enough to know that this is not a man to lie to.  Rising from the floor, Nathan brushes a bit of dirt from his pantlegs before taking the offered seat.  "Thank you, sir.  I appreciate the... kindness."  Eyes are still downcast, closely examing the tabletop, while shoulders are hunched slightly -- he wants to give the other man no reason to suggest he's challenging the other's power or dominance.  "And yes, I do.  Between my shoulderblades."  Hands are clasped together in his lap as the words are softly spoken.

 

Sebastian waves a hand to the waitress, mumbling something about this young man joining him and to bring his plate, a new fork, and such. In the meantime though while the transfer is being made, he simply watches Rather for a long moment, gauging him. "Quite an odd place to have that. On your back? However did you notice such a thing -because these sorts of marks just aren't all that common. And a nice color as well?"

 

"I have only seen it once myself, but the color seems quite like your own.  I would never have known I had it if a friend had not commented upon it during unusual circumstances some time ago."  Very gradually and hesitantly, Rathan raises his chin, eyes focusing on a spot some six inches below and in front of Sebastian.  No direct eye contact yet, but perhaps a bit less subservience.  "I have never come across anyone else with a mark like it.  It's not a tattoo, but I do not know what it is or why it is there."

 

Sebastian's smile grows by the smallest of bits now and again as he continues to look over at Rathan. "Truly...Well, I find it rather an honor to meet you... to find someone with a mark similar to my own. Actually, you are not alone in that at all, young man. Not at all." His head seems to tilt to the side, as if watching him from a new angle. "I'm Sebastian, but in our little tattooed circle, I'm also known as Ichijin."

 

"Ichijin..."  Rathan rolls the word around in his mouth as if tasting the foreignness of it.  "I've never heard the name before.  It's not American, is it?"  That's for certain.  "And what do you mean?  There are still others with these marks?"  His gaze makes that final leap to meet Sebastian's eyes.  "Are they the marks of... Satan?"  At the last question, the young man's southern accent briefly rears its ugly head.

 

Sebastian blinks at Rathan for a long moment, and then is doing his level best not to chuckle. "Satan? Not so Christian, dear sir. Nor with all of the horns and pitch-fork and such." Well, maybe tusks, but that is besides the point. "And no, not American," just like the accent that tickles its way through Seb's voice, South African.

 

A smile of satisfaction spreads across Rathan's face.  "Not Satan," he reiterates for his own sake.  "I don't care what or who the mark is from, then, as long as the old man was wrong."  The waitress arrives at this point with Rathan's plate and new fork.  His features transform into a cheerfully glowing smile and teasing tone, "Just could not keep away, could you?"  The waitress laughs with a casual toss of her head before shaking her head at him and heading back towards the front.  Once more, as soon as she is out of sight, the vitality and emotion fade away.  "Can you... Do you...  Does the mark..."  Whatever he is trying to express, Rathan can't seem to find the proper words.  He sinks in upon himself again.  "Forgive me, sir. I have no right to ask you questions."

 

Sebastian draws his fork through the angle-hair (fitting, ne?), but doesn't take a bite quite yet. He does watch Rathan with something more of an inquisitive look, curiosity slightly showing in the cant of his 'brows but that is all. "I'm sorry... what? Oh, feel free to ask me just about anything, after all... we're a part of a brotherhood now. Well, possibly not so brotherly, seeing as the only other person that I've come across with the pretty orange mark is female. Reese.  You'll have to meet her."

 

"It would be a pleasure to meet any friends of ours, I am sure," Rathan politely responds, his tone sincere.  "And are you sure you do not mind questions?  I do not know what kind of brotherhood you mean, since we so obviously have nothing else in common, and I would not wish to abuse your kindness and patience by asking things which will likely sound quite insane."

Sebastian actually does chuckle this time, clearly in amusement. "Ohh, dear sir. You could say that things normal people would consider insane come with that mark on your back. You'll get used to it." A breath, "And apparently there is quite a bit that does need to be explained to you in the meantime. The proverbial lamb, I suppose." He clucks his tongue once before head bobs forward, "One question for now though, then I must take my leave of you... young nameless man."

 

A faint blush creeps across Rathan's cheeks.  "I am sorry, my manners are horrible.  My name is Rathan.  Rathan Wycliffe."  And now for the question, since the other man has assured him that not only is it alright, but that he likely will not deem the question to originate in the mind of a mad man.  He leans forward slightly, now resting his hands on the table as he asks in a soft voice meant to carry no further than Sebastian's ears. "Can you... do things?  Things people shouldn't be able to do?"

 

Sebastian chuckles softly, nods his head to Rathan, and then moves to stand. "I'll do you one better, Rathan Wycliffe." He tosses some vague amount of money onto the table top, and then moves to stand. Briefly, he toys with the idea of just doing whatever right there in the store. It seems as though some of his companions are rubbing off on him. Alas, instead he indicates with a hand for Rathan to follow him into a back and vacant hallway in the restaurant, simply assuming he will follow. "Come."

 

Obediently, Rathan does indeed rise and follow without questioning the slightly older man.  He walks one pace behind and slightly to the right of Sebastian, much like a dog coming to heel.  Not even a glance is spared for the money, the waitress, or anything else but Sebastian's back, gaze carefully kept below the level of the man's shoulders.  He would not want to accidentally meet the man's gaze if the other should turn to look at him.

 

Sebastian briefly ponders how the miko will take all of this in. Briefly. But then he is back to the here and now, or at least as apparent as seen. "I'm sure you are the kind of young man to keep his peace when seeing things that aren't exactly typical of your average man? I'll trust you to do so now." There is a slight bite to his words, a flicker of a glance askance to Rathan, and then Seb is slashing a finger through the air to create a line -a line that opens into something of a portal, with the wavering, nearly liquid image of what could be an apartment on the other side. Simple, really.

 

You open a portal to Royal Elizabeth-Penthouse 1.

 

Once more, Rathan's eyes widen in surprise, but that is the only evident reaction.  "Is that..."  One hand half-reaches towards the portal before being abruptly drawn back to his side.  "I thank you for trusting me enough to share this with me, sir."  With some effort, he lowers his gaze from the rift in space to stare down at the ground once more.  "Again, if there is somwhat I may do in return, you need but ask."  He then stands as rigid as a statue, wondering what, if anything, will happen next.

 

Sebastian shrugs his shoulders, smiles faintly, and then reaches over as if to take Rathan's wrist once more. "Come now. No need to be quite so soft spoken, Rathan. Do /join/ me." Making sure his grip is good and firm, Seb still slaps a hand to the young man's back to, quite literally, push him through the portal. How is that for meeting your fellow oni? Welcome to the Yin. And he should actually be lucky he met Seb first.

 

Garanto has entered the portal.

 

You step into the portal, sensing an odd disorientation for a moment.

The sense of distortion continues, with a sense that your forward rush of motion is much greater than your initial step into the portal...

Royal Elizabeth-Penthouse 1

It is a penthouse, a swanky penthouse at that. Plenty of windows, wood flooring, elegant lines and a modern look. You've got your sunken living area, long and dark dining table close to the windows that overlook a balcony decorated with topiary and such. Off to some side is the way towards the bedroom, double-doors left open just enough to get a hint of a large bed and more expensive furniture. All in all, it looks like a place that could use a far better description.

Garanto is here.

Obvious exits:

Exit

There is an open portal to Luna's.

The distortion ceases abruptly as you step out of the portal.

You have closed the portal.

 

For a moment it seems as if the chain around Rathan's neck and waist begins to unwind itself and rise in the air, but perhaps it was just a bit of visual distortion caused by the portal travel.  Grey eyes quickly flicker about the apartment, taking stock of the young man's surroundings, but when no threat is immediately apparent, he resumes the pose he had been in before the unexpected trip.  "My own ability is not entirely dissimilar," he admits, "but nowhere near as powerful as yours, sir.  Now that you have me here, what do you wish of me?"  His voice has grown soft and empty.

 

Sebastian wafts a hand negligently behind him and the portal closes. He continues in, watching Rathan for a long moment. "Nice to see we've plenty around here that can move fast when need be." And it is at this moment that the dogs out on the terrace begin their barking. Half-dozen rotts at that. Seb rolls his eyes, smirking outside. "My apologizes. Lexie's pets." A breath, "Anyway, consider this your haven if you should need it. We are currently in the Royal Elizabeth. Somehow or another, most of our friends with the little symbols show up here, so don't be too alarmed. Alas, I've some loose ends to tie up, so I shall leave you to your own entertainments, Rathan. Please try not to get into too much trouble. Leave if you so wish." And with that, he departs, simple as that.

 

The staccato barks of the dogs can be easily ignored.  "Thank you, sir," is all he comments to Sebastian as the other man departs, before Rathan decides to sit down for awhile, right upon the floor where he currently stands.  This is as good a place as any for the moment to collect his thoughts and revise a few mental concepts of himself.  He'll likely leave soon, however.  No telling what might happen if someone else were to find him here.