1964-08-26 - Where are the Dragons?
Summary: Jennifer and Klarion meet at a bar; they decide to go dragon hunting!
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
jennifer-kale klarion 

There are a dozen places like it. Dens of magical iniquity, hidden corners where spellcrafters and monsters can gather. A Sorceror Supreme or a Lord of Order would never quite fit here, too grand and powerful. The locals would sniff them out quickly, like cons sniffing out the narc. The place is filled with smoke and the sound of strange music, something played on a violin, mournful and low.

Klarion has a table to himself, his feet kicked up. A bottle of green liquid sits on the table, his favored absinthe. He has a long-sleeved poet's shirt on, open enough to show his snow-pale chest and leather trousers that either won't be in style for twenty years or went out of style two hundred years ago.

Either way, he has a cigarette dangling from his lips, hand-rolled, and a pair of sunglasses hiding his eyes as he takes in the scenery.

From Miami to New York, the manner of dress was different. There was a certain type of sophistication that was had here, but with a girl like Jennifer, that was blown out the window. The jeans she wears were high-waisted, along with the boots that she wore. Her shirt was tight fitted around each and every curve that she possesses, her long, blonde hair straight which crowns her face. She could be the personification of magic, a great beauty, at least until the young one opens her mouth with a slight southern accent that clearly says that she's not from around these parts.

And lets not forget the dragon upon her arm. One that if you stare at too long? It seemingly looks right back at you. "Gimme somethin' that's like a bear." She says. Yes, she said bear. But that's how she pronounces beer. "Like it cold please. What's ye currency? Had a place down in the swamps that only asked for pennies that were created before nineteen fifty. Sure you all ain't that cheap." With her dufflebags soon dumped upon the ground, her purse was hitched upon an upraised thigh so that she could start digging.

Klarion pushes up from his table, languid and loose-limbed, swirling his glass to let the emerald liquid within splash around the ice cubes as he makes his way over to the bar and the woman, "Doubloons, fingerbones, communion wafers and, of course, the cash of the land," he smiles, "Even magicians need to buy toilet paper and curtains. Or so I'm told," he says.

"You're well put together for a swamp witch, though. My people told tales of the people of the South, but they were hardly complimentary. But, then, my people are awful, wretched pedants who should be burned at the stake. The Puritans had that much right."

Cash. That was at least something she had a slight abundance in. In places like these, you can't fool a tender with a quick magic trick that'll get you free booze. You walk into that one you'd come out with part of your brain missing or some skin. So a few dollar bills were pulled out, even as the young man.. quite possibly close to her age begins to speak and she just shakes her head. "Ain't part of the swamp anymore.." It wasn't a bitter sound, but with her purse shucked upon her shoulder she takes a seat at the bar, money on the table and ready for a drink.

"Even though I'm 'line' to ask what was said about my people, I don't rightly care." She grins then, reaching over for her glass of chilled 'bear', immediately taking a few deep gulps which causes the foam to stick upon her upper lip. "One thangs for certain, you people surely are friendly enough to come wanderin' up on strangers to talk an' all that."

Klarion takes a moment to decipher Jennifer's accent. His people spoke a version of English better suited to the 17th century than the modern age and, while he'd adapted his speech since his time in exile began, he still had a few difficulties with some of the regional peculiarities. And Jennifer's speech certainly counted as peculiar.

"I don't know if I'd count as friendly," he smiles, "More curious and intrigued. And perhaps a bit bored," he says. "Most of the people tonight are of the very studious nature, trading spells and talking craft. If I were in the mood to be schooled, I suppose I'd be pleased, but, quite honestly, the company of a beautiful woman and enough intoxicant to muddle my mind sounds far more appealing," he says.

"We call all those three friendly in my parts." The napkin was taken up, dabbed a bit at her lips as she regards him with a bit of wariness. "I wouldn't mind a bit of spell chuckin and talkin, to be quite honest. Always going to be in the learning business one way or another. But.." She takes another sip, her hand wiping against the back of her mouth. "Suppose a company of a good looking guy ain't beneath me none either." She smiles a bit, then gestures. "One more of what he's havin. I'll have that too." It was almost like an afterthought, but her hand strikes out after she wipes it clear upon the swell of her ass. "Names Jenny. Jenny Kale."

Klarion doesn't seem in the least discouraged. If anything, he finds her casual behavior amusing. He's lived his whole life among people who regimented every action, measured every thought in their heads against some impossible standard laid down by the dusty and long-dead people who had founded their village.

Y'know, assholes.

He takes the hand with a ghost of a smirk, "Klarion Bleak," he says, gesturing towards his own table nearby. "May I compliment you on your taste, then, in both beverage and company," he says, pouring her a drink out of his bottle, "The absinthe can be a bit hallucinatory but, well, a little unreality is part of the fun, after all."

The gesture gives Jennifer a chance to allow a slightly worried glance to cross her face. And with a shrug of her shoulders, she slides off of the stool to grab her bags, and a toss of her head in that direction. "Bring the drinks then." She'll have her stuff. It was a quick drag and lumber over towards the table, with her pulling her foot out to drag the table back so that she could sit, one leg finally crossing over the other with a lean back.

"Bleak, eh? That's such an odd name, but I bet your name somewhere over in them registries of magic. I mean, with the way you talk, you'd be surely hard to miss in these here circles.. though most of your types sound like a bunch of bumbling assholes."

She grins after that, then quitely points out, "Not to say that yer one, I'm kinda liking your whole entire style. Certainly not Flordia, damn sure ain't New Yawk." She reaches for the glass of absinthe considering. "You sure this safe? My ol' granny drank a lot but then we'd have to leave her house for a fortnight. All sorts of magical hijinx would happen…"

Klarion takes a long sip of his drink, "Oh, I'm absolutely one. I'm a terrible person, by any stretch of the imagination. So much so that the cruel and vicious stock from which I'm descended found my continuing presence intolerable enough to cast me back out into the empty skies of this land, forbidden to them. They think of this as an uncivilized wasteland and they're not entirely far off," he smirks.

"But I bear no prejudice against you and yours. This land of Flor-i-da may have a strange name to my foriegn tongue, but I"m sure it has its magicks and its wonders all the same," he says. "As for the safety of the drink, well, it might make the world bleed a little at the edges, but usually in fun ways."

For a long moment, Jennifer considers the drink before her, even the thoughts of her poor ol' granny were coming to mind when the kids did happen to sneak a little something from the cabinent against their grandfathers wishes. It was fun. Granny allowed it, approved it, gave them a show much to their scratches and scuffs.. but then again..

The drink was left aside for now, as Jennifer tried to make herself comfortable along with the use of his words. "You know, it's a damn good thing you're handsome to look at, because I really have no idea what the tarnations you just said there, darlin'."

Klarion smiles, "Things that are hard to understand are more interesting, though, are they not? Otherwise you might find me boring. Most pretty things are boring - vapid, empty, superficial. I'm interesting on the inside and the outside. Although if you're looking to read my entrails, I'd probably rather you not," he says.

He takes a sip from his own glass, letting the bittersweet liqueur swirl around in his mouth before he swallows. "So, what brings you to the big city, then?"

"You got me there, Sugar. But if we're going to keep doing this here banter back and forth, Jenny's going to have to get herself one of them dictionaries." She grins, attempting to suppress a chuckle by slapping her thigh and leaning back just a bit more. Granted, she wishes for more beer, but how rude would she be, leaving the drink he poured her sitting there upon the table? "Entrails.. nah. Not looking to kill or maim nobody. Quite frankly, I was hoping to hit the boards to see if anyone had any work so I can make some coin and get a decent place to sleep."

She watches him as he drinks, her arm twitching slightly as the dragon itself upon her arm slowly begins to change positions. It was an agonizingly slow movement, only seen if the person was patient enough to stare at that bit of flesh. "Basically, just wanna get out of the small swamp livin'. Figured I'd come up here to try to get a proper education here at Columbia. I mean, I'm already enrolled, I'd just like a place to lay my books when I ain't worryin' with 'em. Know what I mean?"

Klarion doesn't play shy about his fascination with the dragon. He grabs his chair and shifts it over, spinning it so he can straddle it, "What a creature you have there," he says, tilting his head sideways, his dark hair spilling across a sculpted cheekbone for a moment, until his darkling eyes flit back up to Jennifer's face.

"Work? Why on Earth would you pursue labor? You're a witch, aren't you? What good is magic if we don't at least escape the drudgery of a mundane life of service?" he says. "But a place to lay your head is certainly worthwhile. I have a place of my own, should you have need of shelter alone, but only the one bed," he smirks.

Jen twists her arm a bit, then gives a slight glance down towards her arm. "Oh him? He's nothing. Just a far cry from the real thang. To be quite honest, I'm shocked that more'n us don't have any familiars or watchdogs like this. Dragons are a treasure, and very.. very rare." As if he didn't know. But, her eyes do light as she listens, her head shaking ever so slightly as she finally laughs.

"I'm not used to that. Just layin' around like a lump on a log and magic'ing everything up. Girl has to feel like she's got a purpose, know what I mean?" Though, considering his words, she was highly tempted to ask if she'd just be that. A prop for him to lay and push in whenever he felt like it, and she'd not have to pay rent, clean nor cook..

"What's the catch."

Klarion purses his lips, "Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm…no, no, I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. Why would you need a purpose? You're not a knife or a shovel," he says. "Life has no meaning. It's simply existence, the meandering interaction of magical forces with the only rhyme and reason defined by those with the power to impose it upon others," he says.

To the former, though, he smiles, "I have never seen a real dragon, but would like the sight. That would be a quest worth undertaking. Do you think there are any dragons in New York?"

"I'm not a knife or a shovel but I'd like to contribute something to the world. You know, leave my mark. Do something that I'm proud of, not just sit around and let this shit pass me by." Her hand lifts, waving about, creating a trail of light as she does so. Though, his needs and wants about seeing a real dragon does get her attention. There were rumors of one being somewhere in New York, but anyone who was determined to look…

..lets just say that they weren't around for some reason or another.

"I mean, I heard about a few stories here and there. Especially in New York. New York's like a mecca of strange thangs, there's even aliens about I heard." She looks almost giddy at that. "But.. if you're certain 'bout wanting to find one, pretty sure I could sneak about here and there and help you look. Might be a fun way to pass the time til the new semester starts."

Klarion reaches out and snags some of the light, wrapping it around his finger and letting it trail up his arm to create a makeshift glove. He watches it sparkle, but doesn't think it's for him, snapping his fingers to make the light shift to black, sparkling diamonds of darkness. Much better.

"Aliens? I suppose I might qualify as an alien, since I'm not precisely from Earth, even if my people were, once upon a time," he says. "But yes, let's find us a dragon. We just need to find some old, sad, hookah-smoking wise man to refuse to tell us how to find one. And then we'll steal the information out from under his nose."

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