nexus_sages | (no subject)

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Tonight, Hunter is sitting on a bar stool in one of the Forum's bars in the commercial district, nursing his third beer of the evening.

The tattooed-covered young man is wearing a light gray tuxedo, so either he has been (or is going) to a semi-formal event. There are no clues to what kind of event that might be.

Right now, Hunter is stoic and quiet, as he finishes the beer. Looking around the bar, he spots a pool table. And, after ordering another beer, Hunter heads over to stake his claim at the table. He finds a place to hang up his coat, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal the tattoos that cover his arms.

Then he starts playing pool by himself. It really seems like the solo game is meant to be a distraction, doesn't it?

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Bars and taverns are frequently treated in fiction as the best place to gather news and information for an adventuring party. As a freelance mercenary, Sonic can't say he disagrees with that assessment; some of his most lucrative jobs have come from sulking around the right bar and buying the right person a drink. With all those tattoos, Hunter looks like he could be the right person, but even if he isn't, so what? The ninja has nothing to lose by being friendly.

He waits until Hunter has sunk about half the balls on the table before he approaches, a sampler plate of appetizers in one hand, and a pink and sugary drink in the other.

"I'd offer to buy you something to drink, but it looks like you've already got one. Care for a snack instead?" he asks, cocking his hip to the side as he offers out the plate.

Hunter looks up from his next prepared shot at the man who approaches with the plate of appetizers. Even with a few drinks already consumed, Hunter knows that it is always good to have some food in the belly to prevent a full-out hangover the next morning.

"Sure." He nods to a nearby table, where his beer sits between shots. "I never turn down free food."

"Never met anyone who has," Sonic agrees with a smile, moving towards the table to set the plate down. He leans against it with one hip, picking up an onion ring for himself. "Would you be terribly offended if I asked about your tattoos?"

"No I would not be offended." Hunter sets his pool cue down for a moment. He joins Sonic at the table, to take a few wings off the platter.

"What would you like to know?"

"Oh, nothing in particular," he says with a shrug, eyes darting over the tattoos on Hunter's arms. "I've met few people who don't like to talk about their tattoos, and yours are interesting. I was thinking they must have an interesting story behind them."

Hunter has a dead rose bush on his left arm. The roots of the rose bush are in his palm. The top spread into thorny vines, that continue to carry up his arm. It is those same thorny vines that cover Hunter's face.

There is a Egyptian eye on his right hand. It is mostly bare, except for where the thorny vines start about his elbow.

"They are practically an entire full-body piece."

"That must have taken some time," he murmurs, his eyes widening slightly. He'd love nothing more than to reach out and traces his fingertips over the vines, but instead, he folds his arms over his chest. "Did you start out with the piece in mind, or did it evolve naturally as you added to it?"

"Actually... the piece covered me all in one night. In a matter of seconds." Hunter tilts his head slightly in explanation. "It was a magical spell."

"I didn't get to choose the piece. But I am very fond of them." Hunter does trace his finger over the rose bush.

"Oh," if Sonic sounds slightly disappointed, he shrugs it off fairly quickly. The amount of time spent under a needle doesn't affect their beauty, after all (just, perhaps, how impressed Sonic is with Hunter's pain tolerance). Still, he knows a thing or two about being unwillingly marked. He pushes up the sleeves of his v-neck shirt, holding out his arms to show off the scars criss-crossing his forearms. "Well, at least yours look nice."

Just because Hunter wasn't under a needle doesn't mean he didn't feel pain. But that topic doesn't get covered.

"I didn't always see my markings as something nice." Hunter tells Sonic. He reaches out to gently touch Sonic's arm. "I can see sacrifice in these. A dedication. Something beautiful in the story that is behind them."

One hand automatically goes up to cover Sonic's mouth as he snorts, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I got these because I was careless and lost a fight, a foolish one that I didn't need to be fighting in the first place. The only story in them is the tale of an angry teenager desperate to prove himself equal to his brother."

"He failed, by the way," he adds with more than a hint of bitterness. "I'd hide them beneath tattoos myself if it didn't feel like the coward's choice."

"It does sound like you learned from the loss," Hunter can understand the desire to hide what was considered undesirable.

"And you decided you didn't need to hide them. That is admirable."

"So, you are a fighter?"

"I learned from the loss?" he repeats, his voice an amused chuckle. "Well, I suppose if you're being generous with your definitions, perhaps."

Sonic is perfectly aware that his life is one long series of Bad Decisions mixed with intermittent badass fight scenes, and he's very stubbornly sticking to this pattern of behavior, because what's one more Bad Decision tossed onto the already mountainous pile of Bad Decisions, right?

"And I do still hide my scars, even if it's not with something so blatant as a series of full body tattoos." He pointedly turns his attention to his arms as he rolls his sleeves back down, covering the scars once more.

Finally, Sonic lifts his head with a proud, if not dangerous grin, dropping one hand to the sword dangling from his belt. "I'm the Ultimate Modern Ninja, as it happens. Speed of Sound Sonic! I do work as everything from assassin to body guard and all the jobs in between!"

"At your service," he coos, dropping into a low bow with a flourish of his hand.

"That is some title." Hunter notes softly. His eyes move to the sword at Sonic's belt, since it was pointed out to him.

He also cocks an eyebrow ridge at the low bow. There is a dirty response there, that Hunter has to resist saying.

"It sounds like you do keep an interesting life."

"I've earned it," Sonic replies, smoothing his hair from his face as he straightens himself up.

Hunter would not be the first person to crack a dirty joke at his theatrical presentation, and he wouldn't be the last. The fact that Hunter didn't make the joke makes him classier than most of the people Sonic's worked for in the past.

"I try," he shrugs, picking up a mozzarella stick and dunking it into the cup of marinara sauce. "The drawback of being so talented is that most jobs turn out to be incredibly boring. But I think I've enjoyed even the most boring jobs better than I'd like civilian life."

"What about you? Do you lead an interesting life, magical tattoos notwithstanding?"

"It will be quite a mouthful, when I want to pay respect to your title." Hunter smiles a little shyly.

He picks up a few chicken fingers from the appetizer plater, listening to Sonic's struggles in leading a 'boring' life.

"I'm an artist. My specialty is portraits, but I have also done landscape and abstract pieces in the past."

"Just Sonic is fine," he says with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm aware it's not conducive to casual conversation."

There's something to the tone and nature of Hunter's smile that sets off a few alarms in Sonic's mind, but he needs a moment or two to analyze the situation. It's not a matter of his appearance; no one would say Hunter is conventionally attractive with those scars and tattoos, but looks have never figured into Sonic's romantic pursuits. There's deference in Hunter's comment, which is not unappealing. Sonic is an egotistical, dangerous man, and there's little he enjoys more than being in complete control of a situation.

But he hasn't decided if he's in the mood for playing the predator, and he knows he's definitely not in the mood for dealing with a broken heart Hunter doesn't enjoy Sonic's games of Cat and Mouse. Better to maintain a tentative distance for the time being. ~~He hates making good decisions, they're so boring and safe.~~

"I'm afraid art is something slightly outside of my range of familiarity," he admits, flashing Hunter a wry smile. "I'm a workaholic, and it's never quite held my attention. I have posed for a few clients, however."

Pursing a romantic liaison with Sonic is the last thing on Hunter's mind right now. Already, Hunter had a few situations where he had to soothe disappointed emotions. (One of which is the cause of the four beers).

Truly, Hunter was just being himself. But that in itself could lead to the wrong appraisal.

"I could also call myself a workaholic. But I enjoy the process, so I don't really consider it work."

In a whuff of displaced air and a shower of glitter, the bar receives a sudden and incongruous arrival. Schön, the black of his suit sparkling like he'd been chewed up by a craft store, appears out of nowhere at the far end of the table where Hunter's playing, just in time to watch a shot sink (or not). "Now, here is a man with a weight on his mind. Why the furrowed brow, my friend?"

The glittery entrance does make Hunter reconsider any more from his beer for the moment (but he does make his shot).

Hunter has to take in the sparkling suit for a moment too, before answering.

"Just a long day," Hunter answers. "Lindy got married today."

"Ah, Lindy, your young-lady-friend." Schön taps his cane thoughtfully, before adding, "and though your romantic love she was not, the emotions the wedding stirred sit not well in the heart of Hunter, hmm?"

"That would be a good assessment."

"I am very happy for her. That she found someone. But at the end of the night, when she left with her new husband, I just felt a little lonely." And for someone who wears his heart on his sleeve, it was a very emotional moment.

"So you decided to drink, play billiards, and feel a little morose?" Schön prompts. "Not the worst reaction I've seen, so you can take heart in that."

"Do you play?" Hunter gestures to the extra billiard cues.

"I've been known to dabble," Schön humblebrags, tapping on the table with his star-headed cane; the balls roll together, springing out of the pockets to do so in some cases, as though they had just been racked up. Was his cane that long a moment ago? Surely not, but it would suffice as a modest cue, now. "Would talking of it help?"

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