Kali
Kali has been finding herself in a lot of high-fallutin' places as of late. University offices, upscale clubs, the Camarilla's stronghold....we could go on, but we won't as you probably get the idea. She plays the part well at these places; she knows how to toe that line between appropriate and inappropriate well and when she needs to be, she can be downright proper. And thus, she is able to naivgate those places that would not otherwise be open to someone of her "low" Clan, or her less-than-honorable profession...or particularly her snark-filled attitude.
However, as much as she may be able to move through those places, a place like East Colfax where things get down and dirty and flat-out dangerous--this is her home. It's also where she operates her business out of, shipping drugs back and forth and sending her dealers out to peddle them among the people of Denver. In East Colfax, she feels a little bit like a queen of her own little corner of the world.
She promises, she's not letting it get to her head. (Much.)
Most of the time when she's operating her business from here, she can be found inside her warehouse directing people on what to do, speaking with contacts and informants about what's going on that might impact her business like police raids or other competitors. Tonight however, she's making her way down the street with a cigarette in one hand and her cell phone in the other, pressed to her head. She's in her usual biker/escort combo-wear, chattering into the phone in Spanish about a potential new distribution source as she leans up against the wall of her warehouse. She is talking like she's in a good mood, but there's something just a bit off about her...she's slightly out of sorts. She hangs up with an "adios" and frowns a little, looking both ways as she takes a drag off her smoke.
Lux
They come sometimes in braces. The addicts, the junkies, the needle-ensnared, the one who're living a high-octane life and just need some fuel. They come in pairs with hungry eyes and quick laughter and a consciousness of being in over their heads or about to fucking fly. The They in question are those who're part of the music season or the higher echelons of society where façades are only just that. Sometimes they're easy marks and sometimes they're vicious like mad-dogs and East Colfax is full of madness of one sort or another. Danger, Will Robinson. The point is that Lux is often mistaken for one of these furtive creatures who just need something, something, so that she doesn't need a taste of sleep, so she can enchant the gods of perfection for just another hour more, so there is no hint of weakness to her own terribly lovely façade, so she can do it all, do it all, do it all and not miss out on one second of her youth. But of course -- she isn't one of those creatures and furtive is not for Lux. Lux has far too much of black-hole magnetism [Light-bringer, Light-taker], far too much presence.
All of which is sheathed tonight [little gazelle, go ahead and take her for a doe] in a pale pair of jeans that've seen their fair share of rips and wrenches and are coming apart into white-strings, a camisole the color of a rosebud seen through cream, and some thin white and black wife-beater with somebody's sharpie-poems scrawled on the side, just under the curve of her breast and down to the curve of her hip, where little marker dots might suggest that she was wearing this when somebody decided to turn her clothing into a word-canvas.
So she isn't one of Them, who come to this part of the street for a little something extra, and she is too conversant with the street (yes, 'conversant with the street,' a sentence she would no-doubt use to prove it) to look as if she is entirely lost, which begs the question of just what she's doing when she walks into Kali's little stretch of East Colfax.
The answer was probably not looking for Kali, but when she notices the Ravnos, that will turn into a reason and a detour.
Kali
Kali is not an inobservant woman most of the time. Yes, she has her moments where her powers of observation fail her but for the most part she picks up on things pretty quickly, a trait born out of survival instincts. One too many time her unlife was saved only by noticing something a moment faster than the person she was dealing with and reacting quickly.
And thus she sees Lux at the same time she's talking with one of her people over a minor problem or another. Something about police patrol patterns changing it up recently. She throws the Toreador a wink and pats her man on the back...well, less of a pat and more of a shove. "Be like a beautiful butterfly for me, cabron. Adapt or die." She gives him a grin that might indicate she's joking, but it doesn't seem to make him feel any better. Now andale."
The guy heads off his own way, leaving Kali free to give the approaching Kindred her full attention. "Well howdy there, chica. I'd say you look like a work of art, but that would be too obvious and literal for my tastes." She grins. "How's tricks?"
Lux
The detour is activated. Lux's heels are negligible tonight but she is still a leggy creature and once she has made it her purpose to go be social it doesn't take her very long to leave the sidewalk proper. There is a big mac rapper, just there. Over there, an abandoned pair of shoes. And over there, a lost pair of cheap panties, tangled up with the shattered inconsequence of a sepia colored bottle, and maybe a bullet casing or two. The Toreador watches Kali's man arrow away, just as you'd do because it's rare that people fixate on one detail, on one person, unless they're serial killers, and Lux isn't a serial killer in the traditional sense. I'd say you look like a work of art. Her generous mouth compresses into a surprisingly ungenerous line, then just the righthand corner quirks up in a precise smirk. Then the promise of generosity wins out and the smirk becomes a smile that draws all sorts've loveliness [Liveliness, Ardency] out of her eyes and the harmony between her cheekbones and her jawline and especially her skin.
"Hey, Kali," says she, and there seems to be pleasure in using the Ravnos' name. "I'm glad to see you around!" There is a 'still' between 'you' and 'around' that passes unspoken, though it might be communicated by something in the glance Lux gives the druglord. Then she plucks the wife-beater away from her hip, "You wanna add a line? I'm being," and here, the Toreador rolls her eyes, cheating her body closer to Kali, as if to make tongue-in-cheek confession, "graffitti tonight."
But she really is.
Lux
In case it needs to be said: well-fed graffitti. There are practically roses in Lux's cheeks.
ooc: And in case it also needs to be said, big mac the rapper is not lying in the gutter, there is totally a 'w' before that. We likes rap music here.
Kali
Kali tilts her head far to the left, eyes locked on the grafitti-that-is-Toreador with amusement. There is a certain level of appreciation that the Rroma woman has for those who choose to spend their deaths full of life (and we don't mean "constantly gorged on blood" there); moroseness doesn't suit the immortal in her eyes. That's why she has appreciation for the Anarchs, even if she doesn't buy into their philosophy. Lux's attitude brings a glitter to the Ravnos' eyes and a smile to her face.
"Glad to you you around too." She throws the same silent 'still' back at the other, pushing off of the wall. She looks down at the shirt, eyes passing over all of the little sketches and lines as Lux offers her the chance to add to the canvas. She straightens and affects an overly-dramatic flourish and bow. "I am honored by your offer and would be delighted to, milady." Even just saying 'milady' is a bit much though, and she cracks into a laugh. "Gimme a pen, I'll ink you up."
"So how are things on the other side of the Great Rebellion? You lot keeping yourselves whole while Big Bad and Big Bore face off?"
Lux
The appearance of impulse certainly belongs to Lux. Kali says she'd be honored to, and the Toreador - who has kept her posture intimate, inclusive and near, and whose skin smells clean with a hint of something ozone-y, something like lightning on a tarnished horizon, almost metallic but no more delicate than that - straightens like Kali's laughter just zipped up her spine and it was good and it is good and every little thing is good. Her smile deepens, and then her lashes drop to flirt with her cheekbones as she reaches for her pen. We say reaches for, because Lux doesn't need to pat herself down, doesn't need to wonder where it is, knows exactly where it is: the interior pocket of a clutch-purse that's hanging from a chain and is the color of piano keys and looks rather well-worn and 'vintage.' Because it is. She rocks back on her heels in order to unzip, dig through a few accoutrements. There's a box-cutter! and a switch-blade. Very well hidden, Anarchist. Then there are two sharpies: red and black. Lux holds the bag open, the chain a gleaming silver thing, cold against her thigh and knee, to let Kali choose with a " - pick your ink, fair Kali, and do not allow yourself to regret the choice."
Her lashes are still low, her glance is still somewhat hooded, a sidelong and automatic coquettry, or perhaps she's just amused enough to answer Kali's dramatic flourishes by playing at the part of coy and demure maiden fair.Then, a shrug. "We're technically under the auspices of Big Bore, are we not? But who has time for us now? We endure. We will, I think, because what other choice is there to make. Not ones I'm particularly eager for. How about you? And your family? How's the glass ceiling treating you?"
A beat, and - "There's plenty of room outside the building, you know." She grins, "Please forgive my urge to lure you away. You've just got such panache."
Kali
Kali reaches out for a pen in the purse, pausing with her fingers almost touching them and considering. Finally, she smiles and both of them, pulling the cap off of the black first and choosing a patch of white right at the bottom of her breastbone where it reaches a point. She drops into a crouch, sitting on her heels as she starts to work. A downward swipe of black before it is capped and the red is uncapped, which finds itself delineating a curve originating at the top of the black line.
"You know what I love about the glass ceiling?" she asks as she works. She's not an artist by nature--she would have made a very poor Toreador, even a Poseur. But she has a bit of artistic talent that she's putting to work here as the lopsided half-moon of red is joined by another, overlapping and hidding by the first at the bottom. She looks up at the other women as she pauses her drawing, grinning a bit.
"I can always see who's on the floor above me. And sometimes, if I'm lucky, I can see what's hiding under their skirts. You'd be amazed at how many don't wear underwear."
She winks and then goes back to black, scrawling some tight lines of cursive below the drawing. When she's done she stands up and hands the pens back; the final result is a black and red flower--not quite a rose, she's not that obvious--with a saying in Romani that reads "My favorite rose is the one that's free."
Lux
The other things scrawled on Lux's shirt run the gamut of 'artistic merit.' Someone quoted Kanye. Someone else drew a goat's head, its horns all a-curl, its eyes the devil's. Someone else was a fan of the beat poets, and they wrote what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn't. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing. Someone else just signed their name, an illegible scrawl topped by a star. Also, oh son of the morning / was it the woman / enticed you to leave us. The two words 'leave us' trailing toward the very bottom of it like it's going to wander off disconsolate (or mischievous) to play at her thighs. Also, what up bitches.
All to say: Kali's effort fits in just fine. As the Ravnos draws, Lux is as still as an actual canvas might be, except when she takes a gentle breath just because she can. There are vampires who do not choose to breathe or do not remember to breathe and Lux is occasionally one of them [Perfectionism], but she likes breathing, and not just to say something. Indeed, Lux bends over, the better to give a crouched Kali access to the expanse of white beneath her breastbone, where the rose camisole blushes through.
And she watches the Ravnos work, listening and intent. Laughs silently, no sound, at amazed at how many don't wear underwear, though when she says, "Would I," it's rather world-wearier than you'd expect. "The thing about peeking up the skirts of people who talk out of their asses is you stare long enough you'll get hypnotized by the asshole's contortions. Seriously, how can such a tightly puckered shithole come up with some of these things."
Yes, Lux. All elegance. When Kali hands the pens back, Lux checks to make certain the caps are firmly pressed, then puts them back into her clutch, sharp little chin lifted so that she might better regard the new scrawl.
"What's it mean?"
Kali
Kali is someone who enjoys breathing as well. ItHer reasons are more practical; she knows it is essential to fitting with the kine. But she also smokes when she doesn't have to, so maybe it's a bit more than that.
She laughs when Lux extends the point about seeing up the Camarilla hierachy's skirts to its logical and distasteful conclusion. "Oh, sweetie...that's the key. I live by a simple set of rules, and they include 'Never trust someone who's showing you their junk, intentionally or not.' They're only ever doing it to draw you in."
She smiles, though it fades just a bit. "Besides...I may not like having to shove my sniffer where a stick normally resides, but it affords me some sort of protection from those who come up from south of the border. But you know that if you ever need anything, all you gotta do is call. Sect allegiance is all about politics and what I can get out of it. People are something entirely different."
She smiles and shrugs. When she asks what it means, Kali translates for her. "My favorite rose is the one that's free. One of my favorite sayings that... well, probably doesn't exist but does now. It sounds good though, right?"
Lux
Lux places her left hand over the Romani saying, the flower that isn't a rose, her palm flattened against the slope of skin and cloth just beneath the artful line of her collar. Her head is tilted: just-so. Her mouth is curved: like so. And the cool-eyed creature [Give Me Liberty, or Give Me Death? Give Me Life, Make Unlife Warm] looks, at least momentarily, quite touched. The night brings out the gloom in her hair, enlaces it with darkness 'cept where the amber effulgence of that streetlight over there plucks out sparks of a warmer color. Her appreciation seems to be restrained for the moment to that look. But then the righthand corner of her mouth quirks up again, and she goes in for a hug, embracing the Ravnos briefly and brushing her lips across the other's cheekbone. When she draws back, it is with real energy: "Don't I know what politics are. As long as you're not against us, beautiful thing."
There's something laughter-contained and intense [scrape the darkness away from the stars, and they'll will cut as they fall] when Kali translates, and she pulls the wife-beater out to get a better look at it, fine-features settling into an almost-ironic cast. "Sure does. May not be able to climb away from its roots entire -- but the stars are up there for a reason, huh?"
"Hey, can I do you?" a gesture with the clutch-purse. She means 'draw on,' probably.
It's a segue to this more serious: "The south of the border set. I haven't had any trouble from them personally for a while. But have you? I mean, is there a new list of -- a confirmation of the dead?"
The Anarchs can hang in Elysium. Lux is not one of them who often chooses to do so.
Mercy
If Mercy had a part of the city which was her favourite, a part that she despised less then the rest. East Colfax would likely be that place. Here human's are closer to their baser natures, feeding off one another, preying on the weak as the strong rise and survive. It is dirtier, darker and more animalistic in this place, and she has little trouble navigating these streets, existing amongst those who see her for what she is...a predator...just like them.
There might even be some urban legends about Mercy here in Colfax, she'd been around long enough, and done enough for a tiny spark to have flourished here, the mad animal woman perhaps, the urban savage....who knows what the humans were calling her these days....as with many things...Mercy Comstock simply did not care.
Tonight however she is trespassing, unbenounced to her, Kali does not urinate to mark her territory, and if any gang signs or grafitti are present to mark her space...these are simply overlooked, or perhaps ignored. She slides through the shadows as she makes her way amongst the ruined bones of old buildings, sliding down alleyways and stalking the side streets of the longest, wickedest street in america.
That is until she stops, stops in the shadow of some old decrepit pile when she hears the laughter of a familiar body, one cold and long dead like her own. Dark eyes survey the darkness, and when they find Kali, and surprise surprise Lux, they settle, the woman watching and listening as she skulks in the shadows for a few moments more.
Why reveal yourself right away afterall.
Kali
Can I do you?
Come on, Kali just can't let that go. The grin that spreads across her face is deeply amused, and she raises an eyebrow. "You gonna buy me dinner first? I may be easy but I ain't cheap..."
That slips away quickly though, and she gives a little nod, looking over her clothing for a spot to write on. A little frown passes over her lips; there's a problem when you favor black-and-red in your clothing. So she shrugs and slips her leather jacket off, leaving the dusky skin of her arms, shoulders and back, or just from neck to bustline. She throws her head back with a dramatic flair and spreads her arms out to her sides. "Paint away, oh Picasso of Denver."
When Lux asks about the Sabbat, the smile does vanish though. She maintains whatever position the Toreador needs in order to draw or write, though her head does shake in response. "Nothing really. Nothing any more than anyone else, anyway. I just...don't deal with them well. Bad experiences, let's say."
Mercy isn't noticed immediately, as she's staying hidden and Kali is letting herself become a piece of art. "Oh...but speaking of threats. You should keep an eye out for a cloak-and-castin' type. Goes by the name of Malcolm Redknapp; new to town. Saw him fucking up one of your compatriots, John St. Germain, and stepped in. He was saying a lot about 'Rabble' and while that may be a lineage slam, I wouldn't be shocked if he put all you and your pals in that category."
Lux
[Let's make something pretty! Dex + Celerity + Crafts.]
Dice: 10 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 4 )
Lux
[And for giggles, is there a creepy dead woman watching?]
Dice: 3 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 5) ( fail )
Lux
[Botch. Hah!]
Lux
Kali throws her arms wide and cool-eyed Lux smiles the sort've smile that'll squeeze radiance out've a dark stone. Bewitch a rock and make it believe that it is fire (and that fire is a Muse [and that it has been visited by Muses]). Maybe she's the rock that thinks it's fire: her fingers are as cool as her eyes ever are. The smile lingers, though, the most transformative of expressions, and after a perusal of Kali's clothing, of the places where it meets her skin, she takes the red pen back out've her clutch and begins to go to work. She starts at the left breastbone -- long, sure sweeps go up and over, toward the place where shoulder meets neck, and then up. If Kali's hair is in the way, Lux sweeps it aside, sure-touched, and she is perhaps in spite of herself concentrating so closely that she doesn't notice anything else on the street. At all.
But since she is noticing Kali, whose expressions she keeps in the corner of her eye, she still replies. There's a sudden, sharp frown when Kali mentions John St. Germain. "John? Really? What's this Redknapp fellow look like?" There is actually some latent -- dormant, sleeping -- menace in the question, although tell-the-truth, she is accepting enough of the news. Maybe because, as she says after a moment, her tone distant, "I don't believe I've ever really spoken to one of them."
Most of her unlife has been in Denver, where the Tremere haven't set foot in over half-a-century. "What are they like?"
A pause. The pen is leaving Kali's neck; lifted, briefly, and then pressed down again on her shoulder, sweeping low but at the back, so Kali'd have to crane her head to see whatever it is Lux is drawing.
Mercy
Mercy sits there for several moments listening to the women speak of current events, of the Sabbat and the Anarchs, and she was certain the Camarilla was in there somewhere as well, mention of these things do not furrow her brow, they do not cause her eyes to harden or any manner of zeal to come forth from the animal, her clan might well be dispersed throughout the three sects but she...she stood for none of it, yet another thing that Mercy seemed to care not at all for.
She watches as well as the Beauty, the one who's name she had yet to learn worked her magic upon the skin of Kali's body, covering it with ink and adding an entirely new level of decoration to the already pretty features of Kali's form. A silent snort left the gangrels body as she turned away for a moment, contemplating leaving the women to play at being girls. But after a moments consideration of her other options...
Like some crocodilian predator from the amazonian depths she slid from the shadow, knee's bent and ready to strike. It was no intention of malice towards the other two vampires, not on her end anyways. This was simply how she moved when leaving cover. Her glacial stride drew her slowly and quietly towards the pair and only when she drew closer did she let out a growled affirmation and narrowed her eyes on the pair.
"Going Tribal?" She inquires with a more audible snort.
Kali
Kali doesn't move or try to peek at what Lux is doing; in this at least, she's trusting the other Kindred. After all, worst that it means is she takes a brillo pad to herself later. She doesn't mind at all.
When the Toreador asks about the Tremere, Kali snorts in derision. "Think the Blue Bloods but less trustworthy and more dangerous. There are people from every other lineage I have trusted regardless of where their family calls home. But I ain't never trusted one of them. I've visited every major city in Europe, but you wouldn't catch me dead in Vienne. Hell, gimme Rome before that place."
"As for Malcolm, he's a short, pale blond Cockney little fuck. You'll probably see his ego coming before you see him. I'd be careful though, he handled John very well."
Mercy's sudden appearance and speaking up causes her eyes to shoot in that direction, but she doesn't yet move so as not to screw up Lux's work. A grin curls her lips upward and her arm bends upward at the elbow to throw her a wave. "You tell me. I'm just the canvas, she's the artist. How's tricks, Mercy-Me, That Murcielago?"
Lux
Lux raises one dark eyebrow at the word 'blue bloods,' but she doesn't look away from Kali's skin yet. The red pen she puts between her teeth [like a mortal-Toreador all flash with a rose] and pulls out the black pen instead. The night air begins to dry the first out and there's an even sharper, more metallic smell from the ink, beloved of malcontented teenage rebels who think it's funny and somewhat lulling to sniff markers. After a second, she caps the red pen, holding it between her middle and ring-finger while still drawing. The sleight-of-hand is practiced and thoughtless. "Every other?" she says. "Even the -- " brief-pause. Because concentration. Then: "The keepers and..." More concentration.
"Did he," Lux murmurs, at that handled John very well. All sleek and silk and musing, but far from amused. Though after a beat, with a sharp and slender smirk, "Heaven help us all if our egos become our heralds." And then Lux blinks, once Kali attends to Mercy's appearance, as if only that dragged her attention away from Kali's skin and the lines she's making on it and to the street proper. Once again, the Gangrel has surprised her, coming out of nowhere as she does.
What'd she say? Something about Tribal? "Oh, it's you again, far from the gardens. Hello." Then, to Kali, "But thanks for the head's up. I'll certainly keep 'pale blond Cockney little fuck' in mind if I go prowling around looking for the new thing in 'entitled jerk.'"
Mercy
Mercy strides slowly towards the pair, coming up along side Kali and Lux. Her gaze shifted first from Kali's features, a brief nod of her features given before she turned to Lux and her nose sniffed at the woman once. "Pretty thing." She says to the woman, and wether it was a compliment or an insult was hard to gauge, but it seemed to be a greeting...of some sort.
The wild woman shifted slightly, moving one foot around to turn her body in a precise, efficient manner so that she might behold what Lux is doing to Kali's features, what she is painting onto her body like some tribal ritual. She regards the work, attempting to divine what scribbles the Toreador might be placing upon Kali's skin before she looked back up to Kali and said. "I am full." Perhaps that is her answer to how she was.
But then her eyes narrow at Lux's work and her nose wrinkle perhaps a look of distaste or confusion upon her features. "It is....." She trails as she tilts her head and the frown deepens as if the woman was trying to find the right words. "It is...red and black." She growls then, as if entirely annoyed by what she see's or perhaps what she does not...and she turns to stride a few steps away before turning upon them once more.
Kali
She snorts when Lux brings up the Lasombra and their ilk. It's an entirely indelicate sound, practically a growl, and more animalistic than can usually be ascribed to the ever-witty Ravnos. Someone is clearly not a fan, to say the least; the sound borders as close to hatred as the woman ever lets herself show.
"You know the one thing I appreciate about those twisted fucks? You can always trust them to fuck you over. Usually while fucking you in a much less metaphorical but just as malicious of a way." She shakes her head, curls of unnaturally-red hair waving angrily to and fro with the motion. "No, I can handle them and their like. Handle with violence."
Sure, she's played pseudo-nice with one of them a couple of times here in the city. But it doesn't mean she doesn't feel the same way about him.
"And any time. We of the oppressed gotta stick together. Occupy Tower Street movement or not."
Mercy's appraisal of Lux's work is Red and black. Kali banishes her bad mood at that comment and grins again. "Well, better red and black than black and yellow. I don't know art, but I know what I like, as they say."
Lux
Lux has drawn a Mexican surrealist's dream of a maze in red sharpie slicking from Kali's collar-bone up the line of her throat tangling stars in its dreamy architectural corners, summoning up thick-and-short lines like there's no difficulty turning a sharpie to finer work than it might normally be used, and look there's a hunchback peeking out from behind Kali's ear, looking down at more rooms within rooms that fall out of the maze and turn into a boat that seems to be captained by a cat and an owl and has wheels that oh sly tricksy mean Lux has to draw a little beneath whatever Kali's got on unless she's going to leave them half-made. The owl has devil horns. They're turning into a house. From the breast-bone up the throat and back down to the shoulder it's all red, but then the black begins to creep in, heavier lines and shadows, and she writes 'Home' in the boat annnnd voilá.
Done more quickly than you might expect.
Pretty thing, Mercy says to Lux, and Lux's oh darkness lashes flicker, and that is the acknowledgment and acceptance of the sentiment, regardless of where it falls on the insult / compliment / observation line. Then a final pen-stroke and she, too, steps back from Kali, and if her eye is critical she doesn't linger to allow the beast that is perfectionism time to sink its talons too, too deep into her soul. Besides, Mercy's reaction is about as priceless as anything she's seen Bertha R. do to-date.
"It seems a pity that they have become what it is they have become, not least because violence is so difficult to hide; didn't they once just want freedom?" There is a faint line - briefly visible - between her eyebrows when she says this. It cannot, or should not, be read as sympathy to the Sabbat of modern nights. Just sympathy for people who want to get out.
And it's just at this moment that her cellphone vibrates. Everybody knows it vibrates because it rattles the oddments in her clutch. Lux peeks at the display face and says, "I need to take this. But you call me sometime, let's hang out more. I promise I won't make you look bad."
"And you," this, to Mercy, who is given a slender smile, "Keep surviving, huh."
ooc: Sadly I need to get ready for work! But thank you both for the play!
Mercy
Mercy watches as Lux complete's her canvas, a final stroke is given and that is that, it is beautiful, and Mercy cants her head to the side a little further as she regards it, oen might wonder if she can appreciate such things, wether she even understands their ideal. Just how much of the woman remained inside the beast? The Toreador's phone rings and she goes to excuse herself, stepping off into the shadows with passing comments and the Gangrel watches her as she disappears into the dark, her eyes fixated upon the womans last known place for long moments after she is already gone.
Then her gaze swivels, turning back to the now freshly painted Ravnos with a sniff and a grimace.
"You smell....horrible." Is what she says, likely referring to the chemical scent of the markers which was even now mixing and merging with the undead drug lords skin.
Mercy kept her distance, likely for the sake of her nose and shook her head. "Why would you do this?"
Kali
Kali grins to Lux and nods, leaning in and kissing her cheek. "You keep safe. Much as we can in the middle of this little power struggle between two giant collections of assholes, anyway. And I will. Have fun, chica."
She lets Lux wander off to answer her phone and picks her leather jacket off the ground. They're right near Kali's warehouse, so she just tosses the jacket on the curb so she can let the ink dry. Mercy's comment about her smelling bad draws a chuckle. There's something fond in the way she does so; the Gangrel is one of those within the city that Kali likes, and it shows in the fact that there's no mocking of the other's disgusted reaction to the smell. "S'why I stopped breathing a few minutes mack. Besides, I work around much chemicals than this. Eventually you get used to it."
"And why?" She gives a casual shrug. "Because she wanted to, and didn't do me any harm. It'll come off very shortly. That's one of the joys of the afterlife, Merse...as a canvas, I'm always coming clean soon enough." In that, she's not just talking about markers. Kali is no stranger to starting anew again and again and again.
She pulls out a cigarette--oh yes, because that will blend with the marker smell well; and lights it up, moving to take a seat on the curb. "So what's new with you? Anything exciting?" It's a conversational tone; honest curiosity.
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