tushanshu_logs | LANDFALL | TAVIMBI

Entry tags:

LANDFALL | TAVIMBI | FEBRUARY MINGLE LOG

Characters: ALL!
Date: January 27th to ???
Location: City of Hatal, Tavimbi
Situation: After anchoring Tu Vishan to the coastline of Tavimbi, the city of Hatal welcomes kedan and Foreigners alike.
Warnings/Rating: Add warnings as needed.

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The southern port city of Hatal is used to getting its fair share of visitors, so after the initial surprise of having a continent-sized turtle washing ashore and parking there like it's going to be a while, the Tavimbians recover with admirable poise and begin processing the new arrivals through their customs procedure. After providing a basic summary of their informátion (age, species, duration of tenure on Tu Vishan, and list of "potentially disruptive abilities") they'll be issued a pass stamp, which they must keep on their person while in Hatal. It's made of a brassy metal, a little larger than a credit card, and inscribed with their information, their date of arrival, and whether they've had any run-ins with the laws in Tavimbi (it will be stamped accordingly by the authorities if such happens.)

Once that's all taken care of, visitors will be welcomed to Hatal!

OOC: There are starters in the comments for various areas of Hatal, or you can use the rest of the post for anything on Tavimbi which doesn't fit under those headings.

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The human mess that was John Constantine was lounging in his premium seating, a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other. It wasn't that he liked this sort of thing, but he did like to know what he could be facing. There were dragons outside that were evidently good dining for the people around here.

Dragons. Just when he thought things that could potentially eat him were limited to demons, werecreatures and vampires, someone had to bring dragons in.

"No, not interested in going down there. Why don't you try one of those over there?" John said, trying to get the ringmaster to leave him alone. Physical combat was not in his wheelhouse. "Just watching. Give him a try."

John waved towards some poor victim who had been minding their own business and watching.

"He's one of our best on the turtle. Sure he'd be up for it."

Victim meet bus that John had just thrown them under.

Obi-Wan is said victim as he was watching the current match. The man stroking his beard in quiet disapproval as he looks on. Though he does manage to catch someone's voice nearby despite the roar of the crowd. Looking up just as the ringmaster comes over to harass, or rather persuade, him into joining in on the 'fun'.

"I beg your pardon? ... No, I'm not interested."

A look is then given in John's direction.

"Is that so? I'm afraid he's just being modest. He's far better than I am."

Have your bus back.

Edited 2016-02-06 05:02 (UTC)

Wow, rude. John likes to think that when he gives a gift that it gets kept until it develops into something truly nasty. Or wonderful. Usually, it's the former. He was John Constantine after all.

There's a sour sort of amusement on John's face as the ringmaster returns to parrot back Obi-Wan's words. He could just talk his way out of this. Could. It was a lot like a person having the right to remain silent but not having the ability.

"He said that?" John asked with wide-eyed innocence. "I can't believe that! He's a living legend among us, you know. I'm just starting out, but look at him. That mild disapproval as he strokes his chin. He's judging your warriors and finding them lacking. Sorry, mate. Know that has to hurt your pride some, but just look at him. Judging."

In truth, John has no idea what Obi-Wan is thinking or who he even is. Most likely from the turtle, but he's not sure.

"Give it another try if you've got anyone worthy of him."

Oh he did not. Obi-Wan's expression is far from pleased when the ringmaster comes back all the more insistent, and indignant. The Jedi running a hand down his face in exasperation as the ringmaster went on about how it would be an insult to the games and their culture if he didn't allow them the honor of participating. How dare he disapprove of their players without testing their strength in the ring. Obi-Wan would have liked to have said he didn't approve of the games at all but that probably wouldn't go over any better.

Well this is quite the predicament you've put him in Constantine. Does he risk insulting the locals or put himself out there for a possible beating?

"All right. One match," Obi-Wan finally relents. "But only if my friend over there fights the loser."

The ringmaster seems more than agreeable to this and shows Obi-Wan where to go before returning to Constantine.

If he's going to be dragged into this then he's taking you with him.

Edited 2016-02-09 14:20 (UTC)

Constantine was more than a little surprised as he found himself hauled out of his nice cushy seat and being shoved towards the ring. Between the two of them playing their verbal game with the ringmaster, seemed the native had gotten tired of it all.

"What? I'm not even armed!"

Protest didn't do John much good as he found himself with Obi-Wan. 'Sour' was a weak word to describe how put out he was with the whole thing. Sure, he'd started it, but really now.

"If you're a priest of some sort in those robes, you'd best start praying for us now or something of that sort. I'm not much of a fighter unless it's last call at the pub, and I've got nothing else to lose."

John gave Obi-Wan's clothing a sideway glance as he started patting down his trench and pockets. There was a decided lack of much on him to use for spellcasting.

"Or you could lose, and we declare that being blood-brothers or some other nonsense we can't fight each other. That might work."

Obi-Wan was removing his cloak as John showed up, sparing the other man only a glance. Not at all sorry that he seemed so put out.

"Oh no, I now have a reputation to uphold, thanks to you."

This said as he removed two lightsabers from his belt and placed them with his cloak. A Muin then showed him to a selection of Jagaiz weapons and explained the rules. Jagaiz weapons only were to be used in the match. That meant no magic or any other sort of weird abilities that weren't physical. Obi-Wan soon decided on a electrical blade sort of weapon that felt the most like his lightsaber. It would do.

"I have no idea how to use any of those," John commented at the display ahead of him, mind clicking along steadily on what he did have on him. Just because the official rules said nothing about spellcasting didn't mean that John was about to keep to that. He was rubbish in a fight, and he knew it.

For all his show of checking himself over for possible spell components, John's plan was quite simple. The minute they escorted ~~sharkbait~~ that robed fellow out, John planned to either use his card to illusion himself to look like someone else or he'd distract them with something else. Getting into that ring? Not about to happen.

"Reputations are easy to make or murder. I'd rather not be the latter, but you go on. Good luck."

That easy smile probably didn't mean anything good for those Obi-Wan would be leaving behind when he went out to the ring first.

"Well, I'm certain you will be making a reputation for yourself either way. Somehow I doubt the locals will take kindly to you giving them the slip."

Obi-Wan was no idiot. He knew quite well that this man wasn't planning to stick around. However, the Jedi Master intended to see this through. And with that, weapon in hand, he allowed himself to be escorted into the ring.

Only to face what possibly could be the biggest and meanest looking Igheeri he had seen yet.

His life.

Edited (Typos :V) 2016-02-17 02:49 (UTC)

"Can't say I care much about mine. You must for yours going out there."

John gave him a small salute as Obi-Wan stepped into the ring. True to the Jedi's suspicions, the street wizard was quick to get out of the holding pen. Later on, it would seem that some never remembered another Foreigner coming in with Obi-Wan while others would seem certain that the other had gone out and fought too. Weirdly enough, none remember what it was John had done or how he'd lost. Winning wasn't something Constantine even tried to claim. Too many remembered a winner.

Slumped in his chair with an indolent grin, John raised his hipflask to Obi-Wan in a cheer as (what looked to John Constantine like) the biggest, toothiest and hungriest creature ever stepped out to meet him.

"Ten on the Igheeri!" he shouted to those next to him.

Edited (typos here too...) 2016-02-17 05:55 (UTC)

Oh boy. What has he gotten himself into? He wouldn't be forgetting this dirty trick unlike the locals John had managed to use his magic on. The Igheeri advanced on Obi-Wan, spewing insults at the 'tiny old man' that obviously posed no challenge to him. The Igheeri promising the crowd that he would end this quickly.

What would begin was a complicated dance of Obi-Wan dodging the Igheeri's blows as he tried to assess the brute's style. Which resulted in some booing. But the Igheeri wouldn't disappoint as his weapon managed to strike the Jedi, causing him to stagger and cry out in surprise and pain as the electric shock ripped through him.

There were various platforms and pillars in this arena. To which Obi-Wan fled, jumping from one to another as the Igheeri furiously climbed after him in pursuit.

Edited 2016-02-17 17:54 (UTC)

John hoped that Obi-Wan didn't. What was the use of going about and setting up a good rival force to keep one on their toes if they didn't do their job? For his part, John was murmuring to one of his fellow bettors that Obi-Wan was three thousand years old and a master of several fighting styles that had come from old Kung-Fu movies.

If Obi-Wan got out of this alive, he was going to have quite a few locals calling him 'Grasshopper' for some reason.

A small wince came from John as the creature managed to land a blow on Obi-Wan. The idea of this had been for a good time, but that looked painful. But was it worth trying something with his magic? If the ringmaster found it out, would they end up torturing that poor arse or something worse? For now, he stayed silent with a spell in his mind.

"Going to hate to take his corpse or beaten body all the way back to the turtle," John said to the man lizard beside him.

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Her hair was pulled back into a bun, pinned in place with a crystal feather. Her armor safely stored away in her sword's gem, ready to summon at any moment, if she needed it and if she could remember how.

"Do you always send others to fight for you?" She commented to the man after overhearing. "And that's not even a citizen of Keeliai."

He smelled heavily of smoke and alcohol, leaving a foul scent in the air causing her nose to crinkle in dislike. She hid it well, placing a pleasant smile on her face. Valdis leaned against the railing, sizing up the people around her under the pretense of watching the match.

"Not always, luv. Sometimes they do it all on their own without me. People are like that, especially if drink is involved. I say 'people', but you know what I mean. Maybe it's a humanoid thing. Zed would probably love to hear about this one. Could use her sometimes."

He could, but that was beside the point. Zed and Chas often kept him honest when he'd rather not be, or as least as close to 'honest' as one could label John Constantine. Taking a drag off his cigarette, John blew a few smoke rings above him.

"So what brings you down here? Like watching creatures beat others senseless?"

Luv? Really?

She bit back a scoff. This man seemed quite self-involved, and his pungent scent made her wonder how anyone could stand to be near him. Though perhaps that was the point of it all, he didn't seem like a man who would do much without thought. She decided to ignore the fact that he didn't bother explaining who Zed was, in favor of wincing at a particularly hard blow to one of the people down in the ring.

"I appreciate skill," she replied, "Besides, you can learn much about people by how they fight."

When it came to what was going on in the ring, John ignored it more or less. Wasn't something he much liked or approved of, but it wasn't his show. Most of the ones down there seemed to have volunteered versus forced into it. When she turned to look down at the combatants, he did take his fill of looking over what of her cleavage he could see before eyes back on her face.

Wasn't a bad view, but staring was rude. He had some standards.

"If they're fighting honest, yeah, sure you could. Doubt any of them are. Probably had everything fixed ahead of time for the punters. Never seen a sport where they didn't bet on everything."

Cynical was a way of life for him.

"You think you'll be venturing into the rings? Pretty bird like you?"

The direction of his gaze caused the corners of her lips to twitch as she fought back a smirk. Men were so predictable.

"They seem to take their fighting quite seriously, the conversations I've overheard are quite critical of fixed matches and cheating."

She turned to face him, leaning back against the railing and crossing her arms, finally allowing the smile to surface.

"You think I'm pretty?"

No mention of the sword on her hip, though it could be seen quite clearly now.

"What people say and what they mean are often two different things, especially if they think there's a chance someone might be listening in on them. There's a reason they're asking at the gates what we can do. They've got to realize none of us are telling the truth."

When she leaned back, his eyes strayed back to her in the same pattern. If it had occurred to him to be coy about his looks, he didn't show it. The same could be said for the weapon she wore. Seemed most everyone was armed these days. He almost missed when only the gangs were.

"I said it, didn't I? Yeah, you're pretty."

That sent a cold chill up his spine even if he didn't so much as twitch. New Orleans had been a short time ago with the killing ghost and her whispered question of 'Do you think I'm pretty?'.

Valdis couldn't deny that she had played the people at customs. Her pass clearly read 'Shapeshifter' in the species portion and 'none' in the 'potentially disruptive abilities' part. The former wasn't entirely false, but the latter was most definitely a lie.

"I suppose. We all have our secrets."

While he occupied himself with looking at her cleavage, she busied herself with focusing her empathetic senses on the crowd, trying to pick out the foreigners among the spectators based upon how they felt to her. She managed to split her attentions just fine between the two interesting subjects.

"Sorry," she said, still smiling at him, "I don't hear that nearly as often as I used to."

"I somehow doubt that."

Who knew which statement he was answering. She had the poise and conduct of a woman who realized her worth, not one that had to fish for compliments in Constantine's opinion. He'd met enough of both types in his time.

There was something about John though that met that empathic sense and sent it sliding off him as if he didn't exist. If Valdis could feel that nothingness, it would have been a lot like running up against one of Anton's sigils that said 'Ignore me, nothing here' but with a different magical structure.

"You going to try your luck in the rings? Heard they have some interesting crystals for the winners. Like to see one for myself."

To his credit, Cain didn't even flinch at having the attention turned to him. He just shifted in his seat as if he was paying even more attention to the match going on. Truth be told, he was more interested in the atmosphere of the arena than the match itself, although there did hold a certain amount of fond entertainment for good old style colosseum fights. Made him feel young again and all that.

"Sorry," he said, attention only momentarily splitting away, "I'm not ready to fight yet. Knowing thy enemy and all that."

The ringmaster only looked frustrated for the brush-off, but for the serious look on Cain's face, decided to leave it alone. Once he had disappeared, Cain turned to Constantine with a wry look on his face. "You make a habit of passing the buck whenever the going gets tough?"

When it came to putting attention on others, John was an equal opportunist. Cain, that pretty girl over at the rail or someone cheering a little too loudly for his liking? All of them were potential targets. Crowds loved a boisterous presence. Cain? Well. He just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

When the ringman passed on, John gave Cain a wry grin and a short salute with his hipflask.

"Passing the buck? You telling me you couldn't get in there and hold your own? Fine strapping young man like you? Thought you might want your chance."

A lie, but hey, John and the truth weren't the best of acquainted.

Equal opportunity just seemed to have a way with finding Cain out, as far as he was concerned, anyway. Maybe he just had more time to skew the odds. Whatever the case, Cain shifted to sit back in his seat and raised his brows at the other man for the gesture.

"Careful there," he cautioned. "You might look equally as young or strapping to the next lazy foreigner. Besides, they'd probably disqualify me right out of the gate."

As far as disruptive abilities went, Cain hadn't declared his penchant for automatic and all-encompassing healing. That wasn't disruptive the way they were worried of, but if he put himself out there and tried showing off his rusted fighting abilities... well, then they would probably take notice, and special powers and abilities weren't allowed.

Nodding to the flask, Cain asked, "Interested in sharing with the guy you almost tossed in with the lions?"

"Man my age? Not likely. They prefer you young bucks."

Looking scruffy and worthless was a skill John had perfected over the years. Why be noticed when it was easier to not be? But what about this young man? Taking another slow purposeful drink, John looked him over. No feathers. Always a good thing. No scales or horns. Even better. Human then? Most likely, John supposed, at least for the time being.

"Might be a bit much for someone not used to it. Blend of my own. Rather not have to drag you reeling and singing back to the turtle. Shivery takes it bad when we normal sorts get a skinful. So who might you be? Can't rightly call you He Who Avoids Lions."

The temptation was there though. Be quite some time since he had a pub crawl with a random stranger.

"Maybe call me Androcles," Cain returned easily. Not exactly the easiest comparison to make considering he wasn't in the ring yet, but he did have enough panache and flair that he fancied himself able to befriend a lion if given the chance. Taking the third option was always his preferred route of resistance, anyway.

He grinned at the actual rebuttal of his question, however, and shook his head. "I'm heartier than I look, though, trust me. Anton can deal with a bit of revelry if I end up eating my words, anyway."

"The lion who was the man's friend and the man who was the lion's doctor."

John couldn't help but roll his eyes. Being a cynical bastard made it impossible not to. This man hardly looked old enough to shave, muchless compare himself to a legend most had forgotten about or turned the man into a mouse by Aesop.

That didn't mean that John wasn't up for a little bit of fun with the stranger. The flask was held out finally for 'Androcles' to take a drink if he wanted. The silver of the flask had been engraved with old symbols and circles of protection against poisoning or entrapment. If Cain took a drink the stuff was a potent gin and vodka mix. Not the best thing to drink, but John Constantine relaxed as he could.

"If he tosses you out, I have no idea who you are."

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