DMC vs Glacier [Page 2]

**Location: The Cloistered Oyster Club "Dance" Floor Time: *???*** [This is my nightmare](https://youtu.be/QUvVdTlA23w)

Lady Sierra Wrote:

> "Ohhhhh Otouto! We're here!! You're going to LOVE this. It'll be unforgettable, I promise!~" > > > > Reaching her hand out, she would catch hold of one Silver Alexander's hand and draw him out of the darkness of the vehicle. > > > > "Mind your head!! And don't take your blindfold offjuuuuuusssst yet!"

Silver slowly stepped out of their chariot, guided by his companion's careful hand as he made sure to heed her warning. Even at the best of times, he wasn't used to traveling in vehicles with low cabins, and had wanged his head on a car door frame more than once in his life. Being completely blind did not help his odds of a safe exit at all.

Shortly after they had boarded the limo back at the hotel, Sierra had insisted he wear the blindfold. And by insist, she rather forcibly and tightly wrapped it around his head before he could so much as protest. Since she had already been waiting in the dimly lit car by the time he had got to the lobby, and it was already dark outside, he hadn't even got a good look at her before being temporarily blinded. But the uncomfortable tightness, as well as unnervingly effective way it was placed to totally obstruct vision suggesting it was not the first time she had done so to someone, ensured he would not see her nor where they were going.

He could feel pulse of the bass, and just barely make out the loud music, even from the curb. He wasn't totally shocked, given that he knew the next venue was supposed to be some sort of club, but that didn't make Sierra's choice of entrance any less bewildering to him. Still, he trusted her...

Once clear of the vehicle, his head slowly turned back and forth as if he could see, tho he was just trying to take in the surrounding area with what other senses he could. His attire was a bit different than his usual: a lighter, hooded jacket over a collared button-up fancy shirt to better fit the club scene, but his normal color palette of mostly red on black remained the same. He managed a nervous smile, still not sure what to make of it all, as he was lead to the door.

"I-if you say so..."

Lady Sierra Wrote:

> He gulped and then gestured behind her. "What abouthim?" > > > > She reached an arm around Silver, drawing him into her and replying, "He's with me, it's hisfirst time." > > > > That earned her a couple of low and throaty chuckles. Even as she could feel Silver shifting uncomfortably next to her.

It had barely registered to Silver that these men, who they even were being unknown to him, were talking about him. He had been preoccupied with "looking" around, pointing his head in every which direction trying to get some sort of bearing on his surroundings. When she pulled him close, he nervously laughed back at the bouncers, attempting to play it cool despite being thoroughly confused.

What had she meant by that? He'd certainly been to a dance club before. Maybe she just didn't know. Before he had time to say anything or even ponder his predicament any further, he was whisked through the doors which were promptly shut behind them.

Lady Sierra Wrote:

> "Oh--" She said, taking her companion by the hand once more and striding past the two men, into the club. "we will."

====

Lady Sierra Wrote:

> Inside, aside from the stages, the club was dimly lit. Only pulsing strobe lights and playful colored laser lights that danced over the crowd, punctuated the darkness and made their movements shiver through the air. You could make out snatches of detail between flashes of light. Women writhing sensually on poles, spectators, both men and women dressed for the club bodies mixing together in a sea of sweat and sex as the the atmosphere was clearly one of base desires.

Once inside, it hit him like a wave, staggering him briefly as he was tugged along be Sierra. His other senses immediately became overwhelmed by stimuli, the sounds and the smell. His extra sensory got hit the worst, having no sight to rely on as a filter. The bodies, the heat... he felt all of it, and was having some trouble adjusting to the sudden sensation. Like flexing a atrophied muscle, sore from underuse, it caused him to wince and grunt, tho it probably just looked like the music was too loud for him to the average onlooker. It served to distract him just enough from figuring out where he really was.

He could just barely make out familiar signatures in the sea of ambient heat. Some far, some, at least one, quite near. Tho it was just now, with his senses thrown on alert, that something struck him as odd. He knew he was with Sierra, but...

Lady Sierra Wrote:

> It was at this moment that the woman stepped behind her companion, pressing her body against his back and reaching her arms up and removing the blindfold. > > > > Before he could turn to face her, she had him by the hand again, and started moving forward, pulling him through the crowd, weaving her way through the press of bodies. Long hair, and her back shielding her face from view.

Silver's body immediately straightened and stiffened. Even trying to focus on her directly, she had still caught him off guard. She had somehow felt farther away than she actually was, but that was definitely her body pressed against him. He didn't even know how to react, when suddenly the blindfold came off.

And his look of confusion slowly gave way to pure horror.

His eyes were already adjusted to the dim light thanks to the prolonged used of the blindfold. The flashes of the strobe were blinding, but in those brief moments, unmistakable images burned into his mind. Bare flesh. Mostly-naked bodies up on the stage, heaving breasts and gyrating hips. Bodies on the dance floor, while considerably more clothed, making no less sensual movements. Silver gasped as his head whipped about, each new sight more shocking to him than the last.

As Sierra started to pull him along again, he snapped back to his senses. He turned to her, using his free hand in a poor attempt to shield his eyes from one direction, even as they wandered in the other. This was certainly "unforgettable". Even if she was playing some kind of joke, he did not think her one to enjoy something like this herself. He attempted to call out to her over the noise, his voice wavering.

"O-oi, nee-san... do you think I could have the blindfold back?"

**Location: The Cloistered Oyster Club Time: *12:50 AM***

Vahn Fah Wrote:

Max had a way of knowing acting like he knew everyone but being known by no one. Sure people knew his reputation, and they knew his name. But most never saw the beyond the persona of a calm man with a smile always on his face and eyes like he knew more than he was telling. At the opposite end of the field, those that were allowed beneath his usual aplomb rarely ever got to see that exterior from the outside. Max didnt talk about business to people he shared drinks or meals with. It was nice, in this moment, to share that with Vahn. Their glasses clinked and it was almost - comforting. It was good to be seen, and known, and yet still be appreciated..

A drink and a moment were shared between two men as different as the two sides of a coin, and just as close. Max walked toward the edge of the balcony of the managers suite and gestured to the crowd below. Looking from the ground floor up, anyone could see him but no one hear had a reason to know him. Except one...one in a red jacket...and he offered that man a wink before turning back to Vahn.

"I've asked Damara to set aside places for our private dances. I hope you dont mind the theatrics, I like to add a little flair to these sorts of things." Max smirked and gestured with his cup toward two ladies in thin red bikini's wearing plastic red devil horns, and plastic red tails, carrying little red pitch forks. Various tattoos decorated their otherwise perfect skin. "If you would follow these young ladies, they'll lead you to the Champagne Room and your dance partner will be along shortly brother." Max paused before saying it. Not because it was trouble, it wasnt. But because it was something to stand where he could be seen and use something so actual and close to his person. But his smile was genuine. "I was careful in my selection. I promise you the best of times."

He had already given Damara instructions to inact the place, the rest - was waiting.

Torigoya Wrote:

Filled with flashing lights, thudding music and gnashing bodies it's easy to get distracted or even confused. But the men in red who approached Cherry Solo were not infact Vahn Fah, although two of them were dressed in what could easily be described as a stripper variant of his clothes available at any party or halloween store. But up close, she would be able to see the details were off. Vahn had muscle tone but his tone came from work and combat, not time spent modeling or in front of a mirror like these men. These men were oiled, Vahn likely wasnt. And Vahn's clothes were combat grade - not plastic and cotton. All the same - two such men approached matched by two women covered in tattoos wearing red bikini's and done up in similarly skimpy devil costumes. Each approached Cherry and looked - hungry. Although their hunger had nothing to do with culinary arts.

"The manager would like to offer you the privilege of a private dance." Said one of the girls as she reached out to wrap herself around Cherry's arm. Her voice at that careful tone that came across as just on the verge of orgasm. Something one would hear in pornography.

"...with one of our top performers." Added the other girl, wrapping herself around the other. The girls were confident, if only because HoH rules prevented harming spectators - which they were counted as. So they were mostly safe. The men smiled with come hither eyes.

"Right this way ladies." Said one, as the two men parted a path through the dance floor - assuming Cherry followed. They were lead to a side room, almost indistinguishable from the wall. Two ladies stood beside this section of wall wearing matching outfits but sporting different tattoos. One turned and pressed a panel on the wall opening up a keypad and then quickly entered a code. The door opened and artificial smoke poured out and inside was a room fit for two. A single stage with a single pole, and one man. The walls were decorated like with Hellish motif, all spikes, fire and pentagrams but all harmless really. The fires were just multicolored lights and billowing strips of fabric, the spikes were plastic. A couple of the pentagrams were actually just upside down Stars of David. The Cloistered Oyster was not exactly highest class. Everything was decorated in reds and blacks and room was dim and misty, but not so much that you it would really impair vision but enough to be appropriately thematic.

The six demons would lead Cherry into the room but they would not follow her in. When the door shut, it was easy to see it could be opened without issue from the inside. And the moment it shut, it closed off all sound of outside. This room was silent to the rest of the club, and vice versa. And then a song began to play. What happened next, would go down in history.

Not Roen Wrote:

Roen went unanswered for an awkward moment. And when answers came, they came in the sort of mysterious ways that divine gifts do. Maximos was clearly on that balcony in the manager's suite looking over the club.

Clubs like this had lights, and lights flickered and flashed and danced. Sometimes they strobed. And sometimes even eyes accustomed to the dark can get surprised when a bright light lances directly at their eyes. This was that sort of thing. It was no attack of any kind, just a trick of the clubs lights that made a single flood-like light shine directly at Roen for no more than a handful of heartbeats. And when it passed, Maximos had vanished and seven angels surrounded him. They didnt walk up or approach, they were not their before and then they were.

Being of a demonic sort Roen had likely seen actual angels. And at first glance these were them. White wings, halos, beautiful and blonde wearing flowing white garments. It would take a man of his history exactly one second more to identify they were not. Their halos were made of tinsel and pipe cleaner, their white clothes were mostly transparent, their wings were small and straps were clearly visible over their shoulders. And well - he had likely never seen an angel still in service to a higher power that wore booty shorts, or no tops at all. And that was what surrounded him. They had their hands clasped in prayer with white cloth over their blonde and sometimes bleached hair. They were beautiful, of that their could be no doubt. And they were all natural, which likely came by request. Anything they lacked was not a slight but a statement on the establishment itself. These women were perhaps some of the best the Cloistered Oyster could afford.

As a choir of angels they approached. They didnt speak, but them hummed and smiled wordlessly and they would touch Roen. His hunched back, his broad shoulders, his muscled arms and conduct him toward a far corner of the club. They opted to speak without syllables but in body language. It was a practiced danced. Their touches were gentle, and innocent in stark contrast to their curves. By the time they reached that far corner one or more of them had already operated the spacious elevator using a keypad to open the door and to input the manager's suite security code. Choir music played in the elevator as it rose.

When the door opened the first thing Roen would notice was that this room was quieter than downstairs. One could talk and be heard here despite the vibrating thrum of the music below. Second he might notice the one way glass floor and balcony that let someone watch the whole club and yet still be private. Last perhaps was the man across the room that looked dressed for an occasion far, far more formal than this. A thigh length black jacket, a dark blue vest, white dress shirt beneath matching dress slacks and pants. His blue hair was short and combed to one side. The man stood a little over six foot and carried a single sword over his shoulder. He was filling a glass at the bar but there was an empty one beside it.

The woman kept up their dance, but they wouldnt push Roen forward and if he advanced they would reach forward as part of the act but they would not follow.

"Mister Roen." Maximos said, turning to face the demon with glass in hand. "It was Jaeger then. But I understand it isnt any longer. Ah! And Hræðilegr! It's been so long friends." Maximos had a sort of warm way of speaking. As if he'd known a person for years, although he and Roen had only met once before this occasion. And from his tone none would have imagined that was a fight. He'd even addressed the sword as a friend. Which - why not? It had a longer history and seen more than he had. "Care for a drink? Amasec? Estufagemi Wine? I've given the club owner very specific instructions on stocking the bar." Max reached over the bar, just past were the usual bears are fauceted and opened a cabinet and then laughed a small laugh. "Ah, excellent. I thought she'd steal it for herself." He set the bottle down on the bar. "A half bottle of Sacra. Left behind on a battlefield. This drink doesnt exist anymore sadly, but there is just enough for two old friends to share a drink, yes?"

There was temptation here, an almost inclination towards civility, if not decency. Maximos was extending the proverbial hand, and Roen felt the familiar tugging of the Gentleman Sage, the facade he wore when cavorting in society, be it high or low, at the friendly beckoning. He wanted to, for a moment. Starved of friends and affection alike, it was not often he was given the opportunity to drink and converse with another, even with the understanding that cold violence was soon to follow. But Roen was sullen in his recent melancholy, and the mask of the Gentleman Sage, much like the Jaeger surname itself, was a neglected if not an unwanted relic, and he could not bring himself to revive it, even at so friendly an urging. So Maximos went without reply, and received only instead hard gaze of the unhappy and the unkind.

Turning his attention away, the Outsider thumbed the recessed button on the elevator, and when the doors opened again, prompted the scantily clad seraphims to take their unwanted smiles and unwelcome touches back down from whence they came, back among those who were more receptive to their myriad charms. It wasn’t until they were gone from sight and presence that Roen deigned to turn back to Maximos. Dredging up some semblance of social observation from the quagmire of angst and obstinance that had settled deep in his belly, the fiend cleared his throat, shook his head, and waved off the offered drink. “No,” he said, gesturing firm negation. “I’m not here to drink, Maximos.” Without meaning to, the devil let a touch of bitterness and contempt seep into his voice. He, like many others, he was sure, did not care for the atmosphere of frivolity that surrounded the Heaven or Hell Tournament, and it showed.

He was uncomfortable, impatient, and not a little incensed with both the location chosen for a dangerous bloodsport, and his team’s opponents, who seemed much enamored with the locale, if Maximos was any indication. It was the Outsider’s fervent hope to nudge the tall man into a clearer understanding of where he was and the danger he was in. Raising a hand (the right, as his left held the sheathless Hræðilegr) and pointing a finger at Maximos, Roen gathered his will, channeled the fabled arcane powers, and prepared to cast a spell. He fired it, but not before giving Maximos the courtesy of a warning. The tournament’s air of gaiety was not his fault, and while Roen couldn’t muster the Gentlemanly Sage for conversation, there was honor yet in him that precluded savagery.

“I’m going to cast a fireball at you, now.” he said, his thumb cocking back much like the hammer. There was humor in that gesture somewhere, a joke about a literal firearm or somesuch. “You should do something about it.” The bead at the tip of one blackened tip bloomed to the size of a baseball, and when Roen finished speaking, he gave things a second of thought and consideration for their collective benefit, then let the spell fire off. It shot from his index finger as a streaking ball of fire hurtling near chest level, straight at Maximos.

1/20

Cherry Solo was a little uncomfortable with the large number of half-naked and barely clothed people in this club, she wasn’t going to judge anyone for ogling naked people in their free time, but it wasn’t her scene. Definitely not. The closest she’d come to holding a boy’s hand was that time she’d throttled Dzan a few years ago and he’d been digging through her guts with a knife during the whole affair, not exactly a romance for the ages and the scrap had gotten them both arrested no less, these people were not her opponent. Some of them dressed like him but what if he was a little more jacked and a lot more oiled up and that just made it worse, a furious fluster had covered her face and by the time one of them women attempted to grab her by the arm Cherry jerked back as fast as she could, hands in front of her body to ward anyone from trying to get close again.

“Woah, hey, hold on, I’m not here for that kind of thing…” Her head swiveled. She looked around, Roen was gone and Vince was leaving, only one man left with a dour look on his face, the message was clear. ‘Stop making a scene and just go with ‘em kid.’

She could practically hear them and, after a moment of coiling into herself, she relented with a sigh. Stuck her arms out, letting a pretty lady set herself into one then the other and guide her to the back room where the end of her innocence surely waited…

Or not, since Vahn turned out to be a pretty cool guy.

Later she’d remark that he was a little aloof but weren’t all famous people? He hadn’t yelled at her and he’d even accepted her request. That more than anything had her grinning like a jackal. Big white teeth on display and an ‘uhuhuhu’ laugh in the back of her throat, “You better not regret saying that, you’re on camera.” Cherry was a big girl, Vahn was slightly bigger, but from her place on the stage she loomed over him. A head full of wild blue hair only barely maintained by the double wrapped band at the back of her skull framing, a pretty face, but a little alien in its smoothness. Androgynous but with a slight canter towards the feminine, “It’s dishonorable to attack a man when he’s sitting down you know, but it’s even worse to make an opponent wait!”

Her attack, if you could really call it that, came in an instant. She didn’t snap to her feet. She used all the strength coiled up in her legs to spring into the air. She’d only get about a foot or so of distance from the stage but with Vahn already a few feet below her and sitting in a chair she would be solidly overhead. Her legs still coiled up beneath her at the apex but unfurling so that when she came crashing down on top of him it would be her feet that hit him first. Cherry was a big girl but Vahn was slightly bigger, he was almost certainly not heavier though, with a weight that hovered in the ballpark of 630 pounds she was officially the last woman in this tournament any man wanted to mount them. If she made contact with the chair it would flatten and splinter all at once, the floor as sturdier but it’d rumble with regret, and all the cheap paraphernalia on the walls would threaten to fall. Worse yet at the apex of her flight there was a spark and by the time she was descending a barrier would be forming between them. About 28 inches wide and 72 inches tall, a typical doors dimensions but made of shimmering blue energy that was easy to see through and would impart a slight shock on contact, being caught beneath it would be like getting hit by a cannon ball surfing on a steel door

Cherry’s arms had taken a hold of halberd in the interim, right hand near the middle and left near the rear, a good three foot of steel pole overhead before you got to the crescent moon axe with a pike in its a** and a spike on its head. She was ready to strike, but it all depended on how Vahn reacted. There was very little chance of catching the enemy off guard even with how short a hop she’d made, but he was also sitting down and while he’d plenty of time to react it had to be done quickly. The key though? Get him out of that chair and onto his feet, taking this fight seriously, with the barrier formed as a way to disincentivize staying beneath her and in optimal counter attack range. Regardless of what followed she’d shout just as chipper as ever; “I wanted to ask, do you want to use weapons or should we stick with our hands?”

[1]

Battery: 85% (-15%)

Vahn Fah Wrote:

**Location: The Cloistered Oyster Club Time: *12:50 AM*** [A Resounding Reply...With a Shocking Acceptance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=218ELDhIiGY&t=810s)

"--!!" His right eye narrowed and then proceeded to widen as she was suddenly in motion. That salacious grin of his never left his face of course even as he was already pushing back hard on the chair. It was definitely cutting it close, but left with only two options- either getting stomped on or not, he admitted to himself that maybe age was getting to him as he opted to clear space.

That and maybe the fact that Sierra wouldn't appreciate him getting too cozy with another woman in this kind of place. Speaking of...I should have felt her by now... A line of thought that had to end for now as he found himself tumbling ever so ungracefully from the tipped back chair even as Cherry came crashing down.

Her question echoed out even as he was now standing in front of her. Both of his feet were splayed at right angles; lead foot (right) pointing forwards as he held onto the sheath with his left hand. Offering his right hand forwards, he kept his right eye forward as his lead hand gripped the sword. Drawing the sword from the scabbard, he stepped back with his left foot and placed himself into a hanging guard, blade pointed down and towards Cherry.

If she could recognize it at all, it was most definitely a wicked looking flamberge rapier, an obsidian-hued weapon that seemed dull and truly belied its true nature as the Fang of Efreet. Recovering his lead foot, he brought the Fang back to a salute, with the blade vertical, crossguard to his upper lip. He maintained eye contact with her even as he spoke: "Well, now, if yer' holdin' it out, ya gotta be meanin' to use it yea?"

Grinning, he returned his lead foot forward and placed the Fang once more into a hanging guard. It was the least he could do, to show her some courtesy.

There was a lot to process, and a short amount of time to really do it in right now. The dimensions of the room, height and best guess at his opponent's reach, the weapon to account for, that spark of energy and quite possibly the insane dent she had left in the floor upon landing. Needless to say, he was going to refrain from any weight jokes.

Oh, what have we got ourselves in now, I wonder?

show spoilerhide spoiler 2/20 Cherry vs Vahn

In summary: Leaning back far enough to tip over in the chair as the strike was coming down, he would go tumbling backward, the sheath in hand. Coming up on both feet, Fang would be unsheathed and a hanging guard would be assumed almost immediately, facing the opponent after giving a salute.

Torigoya Wrote:

Noiselessly and violently, the fireball exploded against the bar. Great sheets of fire gouted from the point of impact in every direction, spilling across the glass floor and the bar itself, clinging to their surfaces. Roen lowered his hand, watching those arcane flames. He did not feel the joy of an arson, but there was always something to be had in the observation of fire taking root and devouring. He likened himself to that fire, really; a voracious spirit that burned bright and consumed all. That wasn’t the truth, though. At least, not anymore. He wasn’t bright flame, he was --

Maximos was on his feet, drawing the Outsider’s attention. Even above the flickering arcane fire mingling with that of newly arisen true flame, the Outsider could see the disappointment on the man’s face writ clear as day. Roen frowned, and the ember of his anger, once smothered and dulled by fractured ego, flared to life. He did not like that look. It reminded him of accusation and the callous, unwanted regard of judgement. Moving with the glacial slowness of the truly incensed, the Outsider approached the flames, bar, and Maximos. The man had hit too close to something resembling truth.

Replying with a voice tight with the effort of slaving fury to insurmountable will, Roen spoke.

“All I am, and all that you need concern yourself with, Maximos, is danger.” He stressed the last of this, affecting the tone he adopted with he was lecturing at the Lore-Spire’s scholarum, or when he was instructing Khalan in the mysteries of the arcane. In those moments he had been teacher and father. Now, he was a mentor of a different sort. Opening his mind and turning it towards psykana, the Outsider threw will into the very weapon his opponent demanded, and with it as a foci, brought potency to bare. This was no magick act, no treatise of the arcane; this, in the grasp of hand and mind in joint unison, was an act of the scalding profane.

To the uninitiated and the talentless, Roen was but a man. A harrowed one with grim visage and menacing in the way brute strength was, he still, just a man. But to the initiated and talented - those possessed of gifts, and the sight those gifts provided - he was a creature of grandiloquent power. He lit up from crown to heel in lambent psyk-light that radiated out from within, a heatless flame that flickered and flared in a nameless wind.

He was incensed, the Outsider. He was powerful. But he was not above theatricality. He needed no somatic gesture to the control the flames that rose along the bar, but habit had him raising Hræðilegr and slicing through the air in tandem and through sympathetic link, sending natural flames leaping towards Maximos in a casted arc, like a sheet that threatened to blanket him. And they were beautiful, it had to be said. In spite of everything and in spite of all, they were beautiful. There was a silkenness to the gold and red, a fluidity and grace that went beyond the practical and the preconceived. They were beautiful, and in their beauty showed a depth of passion in their master seldom revealed.

As they moved, the arcane flames that birthed them dwindled, then died, their lifespan done.

[Sculpt Flame + Psy-Foci, 2 Post Cooldown]

2/20