[center][h3]Loom: Darlyn's Cafe[/h3]
[i]Day 3, Afternoon[/i]
Roanne, Tokarin, Lazarus, Zadkiel[/center]




Angels. Lots of Angels. The man had been fiddling with strands of essence drawn from the whorls in the bar top. The rings and knots moved like fluid beneath the surface of the bar top as he tugged on the essence strands. Funny really, so much of his reputation was predicated on his reputation for raising the dead and yet the sort of artwork he was absentmindedly work on as he waited was really what he wished he was known for. Faces in brick work; nature scenes in the whorls and knots of woodwork. The oak tree was halfway done when the first one came in and sat down. Younger, no previous lives? Maybe. It was hard to tell without the sight trained on her. No need to pry. Chances were he was right but you could never tell without really checking. 


Adding more leaves to the tree with a twist of his left hand below the bar top. Pausing as the hairs on the back of his neck shot up. Something else rather interesting happened. The wards around his mind and soul flared to life. They were two centuries old but they were still just as strong. Illusion maybe? That wasn’t that unusual. But why had the mind wards sprung to life? Looking to his right Lazarus made the look as casual as possible. The man was rather interesting to say the least. Incredibly pale; it was almost reminiscent of the depictions of his kind in the cult writings of at least a dozen old European sects. That must have been the reason for the illusion. To each their own he supposed. 


More plucking of the wood's essence followed as he arranged further flora and fauna in the scene which he was now fully involved in painting beneath the bars surface. To anyone looking directly down on the bartop it would appear as though the rings beneath its polished top were running into new patterns as Lazarus pulled on the strands of essence which he’d picked apart. What in the world was taking the group so long? Probably for the best though given that Ian was not exactly in a trusting mood.


Looking up from the wood Lazarus frowned and then the waitress approached the bar. [i]Friends, Something, oh that one is for me[/i] Stopping himself Lazarus realized that he was watching the muscles in her face as she flicked the micro expressions and her aura shifted. That was going to become awkward assuming they could get Hazumi back; it was so easy to fall back into the same patterns over and over again. Force of habit, behavioral reinforcement, didn’t matter what you called it; it was all the same. Excuses for going through the same motions in a life that he had no right to after defining the end a dozen times and for over two centuries. 

“Cute.” That was rude.

“Sorry, its been about two weeks since I did anything approaching normal. Hunter’s Cocktail actually. Use Irish Whiskey and forget the cream. Don’t hold back on the cherry. The triple sec is fine too. Although I do appreciate the irony. As for my choice of dress; the phrase is Rag Out. I’m Irish not English. Not that you would be able to tell given my lack of accent.” It dawned on him that he was rambling but still...In for a penny in for a pound. [i]Huh, English Idiom again. Interesting[/i] 


“I guess that doesn’t explain the choice of clothing though.” Twisting the essence again he went back to his art absentmindedly carrying on. “I’m a history professor so I have to look the part; although I guess I’ve been on sabbatical for a while now that I think about it.” Tilting his head Lazarus shrugged his shoulders at the thought as though it was only now occurring to him. “Also, given the article framed on the wall over there and the fact that you just came out of the kitchen I’m willing to bet that the burgers here are not quite bad. You can add that to my tab. All the fixings. There we go that one is American I think. Chips if you please. Oh looks like we are back to English. Of course they are potatoes so that ought to be Irish enough for me.”


Pausing the man looked up in the silence he’d single handedly created and met Roanne’s eyes. 


“I tip well. I promise.”


[@Fairess][@Howler][@Wind Wild]