One Night Town [#Niska]

The gentle haze of twilight lightened the evening sky. The city smog was also relatively light, which made for a pleasing sight if one were keen to watch the horizon slowly herald what seemed to be a lovely Saturday. If there were hills to sing to, this was the type of moment to do it. However, for the few individuals who were up at so early, or perhaps so late, an hour, a particular subset of them would have been none the wiser. Instead, they were still operating as if it were the very dead of night.

Katherine was one of those particular people, sitting at a stool, picking at a dent on the bar, running her fingers on the concentric cracks that emanated from it. She sat at one corner, with several seats next to her unoccupied. It wasn't that the place was empty; in fact, there was quite a buzz of activity for the hour, but for the most part those patrons had given Katherine her space due to her reputation and her naturally foreboding presence. They were all in a salon of an old, eccentric man named Lucien, who managed the bar and was currently conversing with the tall Ravenclaw in between serving drinks. Lucien, like Katherine and all the others here, held simply one commonality: they were all avid fans of the Grimli Fight Club.

The matches ran late into the evening, and while the basement where matches were held did serve drinks, the setup of the space didn't necessarily lend itself to social mingling. Many pubs had already closed long before the matches ended, and so Lucien had established an after-hours salon that he ran in his home about once or twice a month, mostly at his whim. Katherine had been attending these events sporadically over the past two years, ever since she'd discovered the underground fight scene. Once in a while, even the combatants would come to these gatherings if they weren't recovering from near death, to revel in the fandom and to network. In fact, a few of them were here, either dancing at the floor, or allowing a gaggle of girls to nurse their wounds, or hunting for a fan willing to shell out their body as a token of their devotion.

While she wasn't a participant in the fight club, Katherine had earned herself a bit of notoriety as a possible new draw. In this very salon, more than a year ago, she'd gotten into an argument with an overbearing wizard, and Katherine, whose own haughty attitude didn't take to another of her type, wound up getting into a physical altercation that ultimately led her to smashing that fool's face into the bar, leaving the imprint that she was now lazily tracing over as she talked with Lucien, who apparently kept the crack as a memento of sorts. However, several events had kept her from joining the possible ranks of Grimli, her thirst for bloodlust was now kept in check by the bloody horror of the war. So, as it was, she found herself content to simply watch, thrilled at the sight of hard punches and blood-stained weapons, yet comforted by the fact that there was a level of control in these fights, that death was kept at bay despite seemingly so close at times.

Earlier, Katherine had been in a passionate conversation with several others about the matches, particularly the last: an exhibition from the shop owner himself. Katherine had never actually seen him in the ring until now, and very few people in the group had as well. While each participant had their own approach, and spectators tended to notice patterns as they followed particular favourites, that exhibition match left quite a mark on Katherine, who noted his clean movements that hinted of experience and restraint, meaning that he was capable of far more than what he'd shown in the ring, which had already been impressive on its own.

She stayed with this group for quite some time, talking, joking, brushing off questions of taking part in the next rounds, and genuinely enjoying their company. However, as a natural introvert, Katherine found herself rather drained after a time, and excused herself for a drink. She'd gone to her usual spot by the corner, easily disappearing from the present revelry. It was winter, and Katherine naturally drew to dark colours in her attire, and was presently clothed in an all black ensemble. Coupled with her tall, lithe frame, she resembled a panther, her light grey eyes seeming prowling for prey. She stretched for a bit, arching her back like a feline, and stifled a yawn. Lucien, who was passing two bottles of firewhiskey to a couple, noticed, and joked whether she was nearing her bed-time. Katherine snorted, and responded playfully.

"It would be very sad if I'd go to bed alone, don't you think?"

It had been a long time since Niska had felt like this, that frigid icy rush of adrenaline that shot through his body like lightning any time he got in the ring. How long had it been since he had been in one of his beloved fights? Perhaps three months. And how long had it been since he'd actually let the beast loose and gone at someone like he meant it-- like he was going to rip them to shreds like the savage he'd been trained to become? It felt like a lifetime ago. As Niska stood over his opponent, who lay sprawled on his back with that same look of surprise and budding suspicion on his bruised face, Niska used his thumb to wipe the blood from his mouth and held out one cloth-wrapped hand.

Less than an hour later and the ring was completely empty, all her patrons having trickled out much more quickly than usual. Lucien was opening his house to them tonight and it was no doubt where all of the spectators had run off to so quickly. That was all good and well, Grimli was hardly the place to relax and have a pint, especially with her bloodstained floors and smell of sweaty fighters, and Lucien was quite the host. Niska had promised he would stop by if he got the chance, after he cleaned up.

The ring was a mess, rubbish littered all over the floor, along with torn betting stubs and empty bottles of firewhiskey and gin. He raised his hand and a bluish-grey flame erupted from his fingertips. It swirled down from the tips to encircle his whole fingers and then his entire palm, like a glove made out of pulsating fire. With a flick of his wrist, all of the rubbish levitated into their proper recepticals (recycling was important after all). And then he closed his hand. From his fist erupted a pulse of power that rippled across the ring like a stone falling into water. After the pulse had ended, the room was as good as new, cleanly scrubbed and smelling fresh and somewhat less musky.

And not long later, he found himself approaching the door to Lucien's place. He could already hear people on the other side of the door, the taste and feel of their magic all somewhat familiar to him. He was much less likely to get in a fight here than most bars, which was somewhat of a comfort to him. He'd already showered and gotten cleaned up, but he hadn't quite wanted to sleep yet. His nightmares were always much worse after he'd been fighting, even in Grimli. A couple bottles of firewhiskey and other voices were a good way to soften the blow though. So he walked in.

It was a lively place, full of people talking and laughing and discussing the night's match. This wasn't really Niska's scene, but he could think of a lot more unpleasant places to be than among fans of the fight club that he himself ran. He crossed the room purposefully, ignoring the people who came up to him asking for this or that. He merely closed his eyes and brushed them off, making his was to the bar in a manner that clearly said he had no intention of talking to anyone. He sat down near the corner of the bar and took off his beanie and scarf, stuffing them both in his pockets and running a hand through his hair.

Niska raised a finger and Lucien, who knew Niska's drinking habits pretty well, set a tall glass of firewhiskey down in front of him. Niska gently nudged the remnants of Lucien's greying magic away and raised the glass to his lips, not trying to taste the old man. As he took a sip, the woman beside him stretched and Lucien spoke to her, being his usual flirty self. Always such a dirty old man, he thought with a small grin. Something about the woman's voice caught Niska's attention and his eyes slid over to her. She was a lovely creature, graceful and elegant but not so much that she would be out of place at Grimli. Niska had seen her a few times at the fights. She was tall, taller than him, and built like an althlete. Or perhaps a dancer, there was much more purpose and lightness in her movements. He didn't miss the way her magic surrounded her, not swirling like most people's, but constant and almost unmoving, like a shell of protective armor that was made of a dark blue wisps of smoke. She was powerful, which was something he could have figured out even without his magus.

"Be careful there, girl, Lucien might steal your heart away if you're not careful," he said, taking another sip and raising an amused eyebrow at the old fox. "And you, aren't you too old to be acting so foolish around beauties like this? She could probably snap you like a twig, old man." He turned his gaze to the girl at his side. "Or am I wrong about you?"

The low, forceful voice pricked at Katherine's ear, as she'd been conversing with Lucien alone and had settled into hearing the old man's gentle, weezy speech. Whether it had been intentional or not, the very nature of the new voice broke the light atmosphere Katherine had enveloped herself in, causing her to turn her head, her smile automatically shrinking to pursed lips as she tensed into her usual defensive mode. Katherine was always wary of strangers, and never left things to chance. While her one hand still played along the bar, Katherine shifted her other arm, loosening her wand under her sleeves. Who was this new fool interrupting her pleasant evening? Did she need to add a second dent to Lucien's bar?

Once she faced the newcomer, Katherine relaxed at once, her lips loosening to form a smirk and her right arm settling back to lean on the bar. She recognised him at once as the man who'd given the demonstration fight, the one that she'd been going on about for the past hour or so. Even from her seat in the stands earlier, far to the back, Katherine had been able to make out most of the man's identifying features, and here they were again for her to observe at much closer detail. Katherine wouldn't call him handsome, as it felt too light a term. He was, however, quite attractive--almost literally. Katherine felt drawn to his dark, powerful features, locking gazes with his dark, brown eyes with her own clear light-grey irises. Their meeting felt more like a struggle for power, and she felt the need to assert herself.

She chuckled at his playful warning, a low accompaniment to Lucien's light laugh, who seemed to take the joke with an easier stride. Meanwhile, she internally scoffed at being called a 'girl'. Granted, the man definitely had some years over the Ravenclaw, although Katherine struggled to pin him to an age.

"I'm afraid, good sir, that your advice has come a tad too late. I've already tried to give it repeatedly, but alas, Lucien has far greater beauties to keep himself occupied." Her voice was a contrast to his, clear in tone and highly polished. Her eyes slid over to Lucien, and grazed her fingers along the older man's arm in conjunction with a wink. The older man wheezed a little more solidly, but shortly had to excuse himself to make a few drinks for patrons at the other end. Alone with the Grimli owner, Katherine turned her sights to him again. She swivelled in her stool to physically face him, crossing her legs and clasping her hands primly upon her knees, in perfect, practised form. "I could be many things," she began.

She smiled at him playfully, in the precise manner she'd been taught in her etiquette classes, before reaching for his glass. She brought it delicately to her lips, then shattered her demure act by taking a large swig of his firewhiskey as if it were sweet honeysuckle. For Katherine, there was a charged pleasure in the sharp, burning sensation that raged down her throat, lighting her loins as it lit her stomach. She gave no wince or shiver or any indication of pain. There was a considerable decrease of his drink's volume when she'd finally set it down and returned her hands to their clasped positions. "So," she continued. "You may be right one day and wrong the next. But, let's start with one constant."

She reached out at arm and smiled. "Katherine."

Niska watched evenly as Katherine, for that was this young lady's name, winked at Lucien. It didn't take a genius to see that the old man was thoroughly seduced by the beauty, and Niska could certainly see the appeal. It must have been his survival instincts that pulled Lucien away though, because Niska had no trouble believing Katherine would have eaten him alive. There was something about her, something about that prim and proper little smile of hers that was all too charming and devilish at the same time.

He also watched in silence as Katherine demurely reached for his glass. And then threw it back like an old sailor in the dirtiest port tavern in New Orleans. He met this action with the raise of an eyebrow and the tiniest lifting of the corner of his lips. How unexpected. She wasn't wincing at all, which felt strange. Even the aforementioned old sailor would have let out a loud cheer after drinking so much, but not his current companion. No, she was just going to keep sitting there and giving him that bold feline smirk.

She held out a hand and Niska saw the way her magic rested against the surface, surrounding her hand with a glove of blue smoke. He shook her hand, feeling the cool prickles of her magic in his fingertips, noticing the sheer power of the energy pulsing around her hand. "Niska," he responded gruffly, then let go of her hand and leaned back against the counter, inconspicuously rubbing his fingers together to rid his skin of her lingering magic.

"Has no one ever warned you that you should never mess with a Russian man's drink?" he asked. Niska reached for his glass and raised an eyebrow at the few centimeters of amber liquid left. "Where I am from, that could easily have started a bar fight. But I do not think Lucien would have appreciated such a transgression. His heart would give out. The old bastard is certainly getting along in years, though he doesn't show it. He'd have a fit, lucky for you." He then looked her over again, eyes going up and down her lean body. "Or maybe it is lucky for me, eh?"

He drank the last of his firewhiskey and placed the empty cup back down on the counter with a soft clink. "I think I have seen your face around Grimli a few times, hard to miss someone like you in a room full of sweaty men. Normally I suppose a man would ask why such a pretty girl is at a place like that, but I have learned to never underestimate girls, especially the pretty ones. I found they can be a lot more ferocious than any of those big men down there. Very frightening actually. Would I be incorrect thinking you are one such a person? I have ... an eye for these sorts of things. Have you ever thought about stepping into the ring sometime?"