TYRANNY

He held up fingers as he listed, tapping each one in turn. “That means no drinking, no stealing, and no trying to scare him. Even if you think it would be funny.”

She pursed her lips, frowning at the rules Wic was listing off. “But this is a bar, Wic! Aren’t you supposed to drink? To, like, fit in or something? We gotta keep our presence quiet, don’t we? Drinking would make us blend in a bit more! What if your guy– your new bestie, and honestly, I’m trying really hard not to be jealous– gets mad that we’re not drinking or, I dunno, kick us out or something like that? I heard that happened once..”

“And I don’t usually try to scare, not unless it some big bad evil guy who needs some dealing with– oh! Or someone who really needs some pounding.” Tyranny grinned wide.

Tyranny moved forward, opening up the door Wicander led her to. “C’monnn, I wanna meet this new little friend you’ve made without me.” 

Still, he was a little skeptical about this meeting. Wicander was incredibly... cloying. He was so good, or at least tried to be. It didn't annoy Victor, he supposed, at least not now, but it confused him. So much of this man had him off balance. He saw him as a friend. Julien, who he'd known much longer and much more intimately, was did not give that label, even if Victor would have accepted it more from him.

He wiped down the bar, eyes almost lazily on the door as it opened. His heart dropped. A demon. Pink as a tulip, a spaded tail swinging, bouncing along as she entered. Was she one of Graz'zt's, come to collect something? She could smell him from the door, he was sure. And then, Wicander was behind her, seemingly traveling with her. Fuck no. She would tell him. ...even worse than that, she had her claws in Wic, the way his patron had his claws in Victor. He winced, his eyes falling downward, but not quick enough to stop him from knocking a goblet clear off of the bar, spilling wine across the barroom floor.

“Hello!” Slightly breathless, Wicander grinned up at the man they’d come here to meet. Then he turned to call back to the entrance, gesturing to the wall. “Tyranny, go get that mop! It’s going to set into the wood!”

Her eyes landed on the man who had dropped the ready to be served drink. She knew him to be the source of that smell. Then, though, her gaze dropped to Wic at the sound of his voice, and it made the thing– perhaps described as her heart– drop. This was Wicander’s great, new, amazing friend? This thing reeking of demonic energy?

Tyranny thought of her sisters, her creator, and all those she knew back home. 

Wic. Wic. She really, really wanted to shout a swear word, but that’d make Wicander mad of course and, perhaps, less amusingly so, further draw in the attention of the drunken patrons sitting around. Tyranny knew they didn’t want that, so she kept the rising temptation down. But fuck, Wic, of course– of course– he would fall into such an easy and obvious trap. 

Something in Tyranny told her that this guy could only have bad intentions for befriending Wic. It was the only explanation. Which could mean more demonic forces would know where they are, which would be reallyyyy bad.

Tyranny’s slit yellow eyes stared ahead of her, locked on the beast that Wic called his friend. She knew, she knew, she couldn’t let this go on.

No response came to Wic’s request, not for a number of seconds, all of Tyranny’s focus on what this guy had planned for Wic. Then her eyes finally blinked, and she looked down at Wic. “Huh? Broom?” 

For most people, the scent of the bar would be overwhelming enough. Beyond that, if they were close to Victor, they's smell spice and musk before they ever got to the smell of sulfur. Demons, however, were nearly trained to smell those claimed by their kind. If Graz'zt gave her leave, Victor would have to answer to her just the same. That became a problem if he was attempting to get Wic away.

"Show's over. If you don't work here, sleep here, or sleep with someone who works here, put your coin on the counter and get out," the warlock called to the room, receiving a few mumbles of disappointment and a chorus of whistles from the few drunken hangers-on. Soon, the bar cleared except the three of them, and the wine was nearly cleaned up. Still, there was tension in Victor's shoulders, his hands firm on his cleaning instrument, prepared to use is as a weapon with his greatsword still tucked away from him behind the bar.

“And for you,” He took a small, unassuming envelope out from his robes and handed it off to Victor. “I know you were looking for more specifics on what we wanted to know, so we came up with a list of topics of import, names of note, and questions we wanted answered. And again,” Wicander frowned, blinking at a wave of fuzz in his vision, cutting himself off. Dizzy again. He readjusted his grip on his staff. Nothing to be done about it now, and so long as he continued the conversation he was sure he could keep that under wraps. It would pass.

“Ah- I’m rude! Excuse me,” He shook his head at his own lack of manners. “Business before introductions, who am I, Kattigan? Victor,” he took Tyranny’s hand in his own and gave it a squeeze, gesturing with it. “This is my dear friend Tyranny. Tyranny, this is Victor.” He smiled at her expectantly.

The demon’s eyes narrowed when the bartender called out, and, no, it was not a wince at the sudden shout, who’d even suggest such a thing? A twist of magic itched to be released. What was this guy planning? If they were alone, would he try to attack them? Separate them and take Wic away like his cover had just been blown– which, okay, it had, but still!! She had no idea how powerful this guy was, and that scared her.

Tyranny moved, stepping closer to help Wic up, only to be met with an extended wet, dripping cloth. She huffed, taking the rag, and, from behind Wicander’s back, with her eyes still glaring at the thing that Wic had found himself in the company of, promptly stuffed the rag into her back pocket.

Her attention shifted back to the one real friend she had on this plane as he grabbed her hand, a light and happy expression on his face. Oh, he had no idea how much trouble he was getting himself into, did he? Still, she kept her grip on his hand tight and maybe held on a bit too hard, but she wanted this monster to know Wicander was hers.

An incredibly poor, forced smile slowly rose up on Tyranny’s expression as she looked back to the barkeep. “Hi,” she said simply, her voice tight and even more forced than the bordering-on-snarling grin on her face. 

He put the mop back in its bucket, briefly going behind the bar to stow away the coin deposited by the patrons and grab three glasses and a bottle of mead. He took a moment to consider before grabbing a strong, clear spirit as well. His gaze lingered on Wic a moment, as if to check the stability of his stance, seeing how he still swayed minutely; hands full, he gestured to a round corner booth with the nod of his head. "This may take a while. Let's sit," he offered, his eyes now flickering to the pink abomination, measuring her response.

Briefly, he walked over to that table to deposit the drink and glasses, though he quickly returned to Wic when the envelope was outstretched. The half-elf took it quickly, not yet cracking the wax. Even if he had mind to, his attention was quickly diverted when he was introduced to the demon. Tyranny. Not a name he recognized of his patron's retinue— didn't rule her out from being the Prince's spawn, knowing even he didn't keep track of them all. However, all signs pointed to another layer of the Hells than the one he knew the most of. Upon seeing her sharp, forced smile, Victor gave her a tight-lipped one in return. "A pleasure to meet you," he replied, grabbing her hand before she could think. Bending at the waist in a bow, he brought her clawed hand to his lips and kissed it. An acknowledgment that he was aware of the power dynamics at play.

He gladly took the signal to sit, though he certainly wasn’t interested in drinking tonight. Dizziness seemed to settle as he sat, scooting himself to the very back of the table so he could sit between them. His eyes lingered on the alcohol, recalling the way Tyranny had described someone being kicked out of a bar for not drinking. It seemed outlandish to consider, but perhaps there was a hint of truth, that he may take some small offense to a gift refused. The clear alcohol might be his best bet. After all, it looked fairly similar to water, maybe it would be significantly tamer than the awful stuff he had at the funeral. He could pretend it was tea.

Wicander couldn’t help the surprise on his face when Victor kissed Tyranny’s hand. What a pleasant fellow! How sweet of him. A strange feeling curled in his guy as a selfish part of him wondered why he didn’t get a kiss on the hand—was Victor flirting with her? No, no he was just being as charming as he always was. What a kind man.

The demon forced that thought away. That didn’t matter. He could trust her, and she had not a singular conscious plan to put him in harm’s way. Not out of what they’d already been doing, at least. But this guy? Vincent, or whatever it was– she wasn’t paying attention when Wic did the introductions– without a doubt had something malicious in store for Wic. And Tyranny couldn’t allow that. 

The last thing she wanted was to upset Wic, but if he was in danger… Tyranny huffed, irritated at the situation. Why couldn’t things ever be easy? It was one of the many things that Tyranny didn’t understand about the material plane. Everything just needed to be as complicated as possible. She hated it.

Tyranny had to force the instinct to flinch away, and she really had to stop herself from biting this guy’s hand– though, technically, that wasn’t a rule Wic had mentioned while walking in so she could potentially follow through on that idea. Maybe if she got another opportunity to. She tried as hard as she possibly could not to let any of the distaste show on her face. Whether it worked or not, she didn’t know, nor did she really care, especially not when Victor kissed her hand. And maybe she dug her nails a bit too hard into the palm of his hand. And maybe that totally accidental and definitely unintentional move was accompanied by her nails growing sharper, just so he could feel the pierce of them against his hand. 

He slid into the booth as well, on the other side of Wic. "There's plenty of rumors floating about. I'm attempting to sort through them as best I can for validity, but the drunks are only so reliable. The amount of nobles that are missing these days is astounding... I believe that you are still included in those numbers," he said, as jovially as he could in the severity of the current scenario.

After a moment, he slid one of the glasses towards himself and took ahold of the bottle of mead. After pouring a generous amount for himself, he put it down, only to grab the clear spirit and pour a shot's worth in the glass of mead. Both bottles were put back in the middle of the table. He figured the stronger would go untouched, more so grabbing it for himself, but he decided to let the companions decide for themselves. Certainly Wic had drank at least some since their first meeting, if he'd in fact left the Creed. Both labels of the bottles had the slightest smear of red now, but he made no mention of it. No use in making a big deal out of a prick like one he got while shaving, especially if it gave satisfaction to the demon.

He wondered for a brief moment if she would like it if he kissed her hand.

Oh dear, it really did seem like Victor expected him to drink. Well, maybe he could take a couple sips and then pass it over to Tyranny, if she didn’t steal it from him before then. He nodded his head towards her glass. “It’s alright, Tyr.”

He reached for the clear bottle, pouring it into his cup as he spoke. “Honestly the fact that you’re getting any information at all is impressive. We’ve been trying at it on the road, and goodness, people are quite sensitive to a handful of questions these days.” He filled his glass to the same level that Victor poured his own drink to—he had some vague understanding that certain glasses were to be filled to certain heights. Did that affect the taste somehow? He had no idea.

Did 'jerk' go against the Creed? Eh. Whatever. It didn't matter.

She gave a casual smile to Wicander, only just slightly surprised that he hadn't noticed the tension, or the blood. The blood that she could smell. For half a second, she really considered grabbing the bottle and giving it a nice long lick. And she would have. If not for the guy who the blood belonged to.

Seeing Wic reach for and pour his own glass, Tyranny mirrored him, grabbing one of the other liquors and a glass and menacingly filling the glass to the brim with the alcohol. A single shake or nudge would mean the drink would spill right on over the edge, and oh no, how horrible would that be??? What a waste of a good drink.

He held up fingers as he listed, tapping each one in turn. “That means no drinking, no stealing, and no trying to scare him. Even if you think it would be funny.”

She pursed her lips, frowning at the rules Wic was listing off. “But this is a bar, Wic! Aren’t you supposed to drink? To, like, fit in or something? We gotta keep our presence quiet, don’t we? Drinking would make us blend in a bit more! What if your guy– your new bestie, and honestly, I’m trying really hard not to be jealous– gets mad that we’re not drinking or, I dunno, kick us out or something like that? I heard that happened once..”

“And I don’t usually try to scare, not unless it some big bad evil guy who needs some dealing with– oh! Or someone who really needs some pounding.” Tyranny grinned wide.

Tyranny moved forward, opening up the door Wicander led her to. “C’monnn, I wanna meet this new little friend you’ve made without me.” 

Still, he was a little skeptical about this meeting. Wicander was incredibly... cloying. He was so good, or at least tried to be. It didn't annoy Victor, he supposed, at least not now, but it confused him. So much of this man had him off balance. He saw him as a friend. Julien, who he'd known much longer and much more intimately, was did not give that label, even if Victor would have accepted it more from him.

He wiped down the bar, eyes almost lazily on the door as it opened. His heart dropped. A demon. Pink as a tulip, a spaded tail swinging, bouncing along as she entered. Was she one of Graz'zt's, come to collect something? She could smell him from the door, he was sure. And then, Wicander was behind her, seemingly traveling with her. Fuck no. She would tell him. ...even worse than that, she had her claws in Wic, the way his patron had his claws in Victor. He winced, his eyes falling downward, but not quick enough to stop him from knocking a goblet clear off of the bar, spilling wine across the barroom floor.

“Hello!” Slightly breathless, Wicander grinned up at the man they’d come here to meet. Then he turned to call back to the entrance, gesturing to the wall. “Tyranny, go get that mop! It’s going to set into the wood!”

Her eyes landed on the man who had dropped the ready to be served drink. She knew him to be the source of that smell. Then, though, her gaze dropped to Wic at the sound of his voice, and it made the thing– perhaps described as her heart– drop. This was Wicander’s great, new, amazing friend? This thing reeking of demonic energy?

Tyranny thought of her sisters, her creator, and all those she knew back home. 

Wic. Wic. She really, really wanted to shout a swear word, but that’d make Wicander mad of course and, perhaps, less amusingly so, further draw in the attention of the drunken patrons sitting around. Tyranny knew they didn’t want that, so she kept the rising temptation down. But fuck, Wic, of course– of course– he would fall into such an easy and obvious trap. 

Something in Tyranny told her that this guy could only have bad intentions for befriending Wic. It was the only explanation. Which could mean more demonic forces would know where they are, which would be reallyyyy bad.

Tyranny’s slit yellow eyes stared ahead of her, locked on the beast that Wic called his friend. She knew, she knew, she couldn’t let this go on.

No response came to Wic’s request, not for a number of seconds, all of Tyranny’s focus on what this guy had planned for Wic. Then her eyes finally blinked, and she looked down at Wic. “Huh? Broom?” 

For most people, the scent of the bar would be overwhelming enough. Beyond that, if they were close to Victor, they's smell spice and musk before they ever got to the smell of sulfur. Demons, however, were nearly trained to smell those claimed by their kind. If Graz'zt gave her leave, Victor would have to answer to her just the same. That became a problem if he was attempting to get Wic away.

"Show's over. If you don't work here, sleep here, or sleep with someone who works here, put your coin on the counter and get out," the warlock called to the room, receiving a few mumbles of disappointment and a chorus of whistles from the few drunken hangers-on. Soon, the bar cleared except the three of them, and the wine was nearly cleaned up. Still, there was tension in Victor's shoulders, his hands firm on his cleaning instrument, prepared to use is as a weapon with his greatsword still tucked away from him behind the bar.

“And for you,” He took a small, unassuming envelope out from his robes and handed it off to Victor. “I know you were looking for more specifics on what we wanted to know, so we came up with a list of topics of import, names of note, and questions we wanted answered. And again,” Wicander frowned, blinking at a wave of fuzz in his vision, cutting himself off. Dizzy again. He readjusted his grip on his staff. Nothing to be done about it now, and so long as he continued the conversation he was sure he could keep that under wraps. It would pass.

“Ah- I’m rude! Excuse me,” He shook his head at his own lack of manners. “Business before introductions, who am I, Kattigan? Victor,” he took Tyranny’s hand in his own and gave it a squeeze, gesturing with it. “This is my dear friend Tyranny. Tyranny, this is Victor.” He smiled at her expectantly.

The demon’s eyes narrowed when the bartender called out, and, no, it was not a wince at the sudden shout, who’d even suggest such a thing? A twist of magic itched to be released. What was this guy planning? If they were alone, would he try to attack them? Separate them and take Wic away like his cover had just been blown– which, okay, it had, but still!! She had no idea how powerful this guy was, and that scared her.

Tyranny moved, stepping closer to help Wic up, only to be met with an extended wet, dripping cloth. She huffed, taking the rag, and, from behind Wicander’s back, with her eyes still glaring at the thing that Wic had found himself in the company of, promptly stuffed the rag into her back pocket.

Her attention shifted back to the one real friend she had on this plane as he grabbed her hand, a light and happy expression on his face. Oh, he had no idea how much trouble he was getting himself into, did he? Still, she kept her grip on his hand tight and maybe held on a bit too hard, but she wanted this monster to know Wicander was hers.

An incredibly poor, forced smile slowly rose up on Tyranny’s expression as she looked back to the barkeep. “Hi,” she said simply, her voice tight and even more forced than the bordering-on-snarling grin on her face. 

He put the mop back in its bucket, briefly going behind the bar to stow away the coin deposited by the patrons and grab three glasses and a bottle of mead. He took a moment to consider before grabbing a strong, clear spirit as well. His gaze lingered on Wic a moment, as if to check the stability of his stance, seeing how he still swayed minutely; hands full, he gestured to a round corner booth with the nod of his head. "This may take a while. Let's sit," he offered, his eyes now flickering to the pink abomination, measuring her response.

Briefly, he walked over to that table to deposit the drink and glasses, though he quickly returned to Wic when the envelope was outstretched. The half-elf took it quickly, not yet cracking the wax. Even if he had mind to, his attention was quickly diverted when he was introduced to the demon. Tyranny. Not a name he recognized of his patron's retinue— didn't rule her out from being the Prince's spawn, knowing even he didn't keep track of them all. However, all signs pointed to another layer of the Hells than the one he knew the most of. Upon seeing her sharp, forced smile, Victor gave her a tight-lipped one in return. "A pleasure to meet you," he replied, grabbing her hand before she could think. Bending at the waist in a bow, he brought her clawed hand to his lips and kissed it. An acknowledgment that he was aware of the power dynamics at play.

He gladly took the signal to sit, though he certainly wasn’t interested in drinking tonight. Dizziness seemed to settle as he sat, scooting himself to the very back of the table so he could sit between them. His eyes lingered on the alcohol, recalling the way Tyranny had described someone being kicked out of a bar for not drinking. It seemed outlandish to consider, but perhaps there was a hint of truth, that he may take some small offense to a gift refused. The clear alcohol might be his best bet. After all, it looked fairly similar to water, maybe it would be significantly tamer than the awful stuff he had at the funeral. He could pretend it was tea.

Wicander couldn’t help the surprise on his face when Victor kissed Tyranny’s hand. What a pleasant fellow! How sweet of him. A strange feeling curled in his guy as a selfish part of him wondered why he didn’t get a kiss on the hand—was Victor flirting with her? No, no he was just being as charming as he always was. What a kind man.

The demon forced that thought away. That didn’t matter. He could trust her, and she had not a singular conscious plan to put him in harm’s way. Not out of what they’d already been doing, at least. But this guy? Vincent, or whatever it was– she wasn’t paying attention when Wic did the introductions– without a doubt had something malicious in store for Wic. And Tyranny couldn’t allow that. 

The last thing she wanted was to upset Wic, but if he was in danger… Tyranny huffed, irritated at the situation. Why couldn’t things ever be easy? It was one of the many things that Tyranny didn’t understand about the material plane. Everything just needed to be as complicated as possible. She hated it.

Tyranny had to force the instinct to flinch away, and she really had to stop herself from biting this guy’s hand– though, technically, that wasn’t a rule Wic had mentioned while walking in so she could potentially follow through on that idea. Maybe if she got another opportunity to. She tried as hard as she possibly could not to let any of the distaste show on her face. Whether it worked or not, she didn’t know, nor did she really care, especially not when Victor kissed her hand. And maybe she dug her nails a bit too hard into the palm of his hand. And maybe that totally accidental and definitely unintentional move was accompanied by her nails growing sharper, just so he could feel the pierce of them against his hand. 

He held up fingers as he listed, tapping each one in turn. “That means no drinking, no stealing, and no trying to scare him. Even if you think it would be funny.”

She pursed her lips, frowning at the rules Wic was listing off. “But this is a bar, Wic! Aren’t you supposed to drink? To, like, fit in or something? We gotta keep our presence quiet, don’t we? Drinking would make us blend in a bit more! What if your guy– your new bestie, and honestly, I’m trying really hard not to be jealous– gets mad that we’re not drinking or, I dunno, kick us out or something like that? I heard that happened once..”

“And I don’t usually try to scare, not unless it some big bad evil guy who needs some dealing with– oh! Or someone who really needs some pounding.” Tyranny grinned wide.

Tyranny moved forward, opening up the door Wicander led her to. “C’monnn, I wanna meet this new little friend you’ve made without me.” 

Still, he was a little skeptical about this meeting. Wicander was incredibly... cloying. He was so good, or at least tried to be. It didn't annoy Victor, he supposed, at least not now, but it confused him. So much of this man had him off balance. He saw him as a friend. Julien, who he'd known much longer and much more intimately, was did not give that label, even if Victor would have accepted it more from him.

He wiped down the bar, eyes almost lazily on the door as it opened. His heart dropped. A demon. Pink as a tulip, a spaded tail swinging, bouncing along as she entered. Was she one of Graz'zt's, come to collect something? She could smell him from the door, he was sure. And then, Wicander was behind her, seemingly traveling with her. Fuck no. She would tell him. ...even worse than that, she had her claws in Wic, the way his patron had his claws in Victor. He winced, his eyes falling downward, but not quick enough to stop him from knocking a goblet clear off of the bar, spilling wine across the barroom floor.

“Hello!” Slightly breathless, Wicander grinned up at the man they’d come here to meet. Then he turned to call back to the entrance, gesturing to the wall. “Tyranny, go get that mop! It’s going to set into the wood!”

Her eyes landed on the man who had dropped the ready to be served drink. She knew him to be the source of that smell. Then, though, her gaze dropped to Wic at the sound of his voice, and it made the thing– perhaps described as her heart– drop. This was Wicander’s great, new, amazing friend? This thing reeking of demonic energy?

Tyranny thought of her sisters, her creator, and all those she knew back home. 

Wic. Wic. She really, really wanted to shout a swear word, but that’d make Wicander mad of course and, perhaps, less amusingly so, further draw in the attention of the drunken patrons sitting around. Tyranny knew they didn’t want that, so she kept the rising temptation down. But fuck, Wic, of course– of course– he would fall into such an easy and obvious trap. 

Something in Tyranny told her that this guy could only have bad intentions for befriending Wic. It was the only explanation. Which could mean more demonic forces would know where they are, which would be reallyyyy bad.

Tyranny’s slit yellow eyes stared ahead of her, locked on the beast that Wic called his friend. She knew, she knew, she couldn’t let this go on.

No response came to Wic’s request, not for a number of seconds, all of Tyranny’s focus on what this guy had planned for Wic. Then her eyes finally blinked, and she looked down at Wic. “Huh? Broom?” 

For most people, the scent of the bar would be overwhelming enough. Beyond that, if they were close to Victor, they's smell spice and musk before they ever got to the smell of sulfur. Demons, however, were nearly trained to smell those claimed by their kind. If Graz'zt gave her leave, Victor would have to answer to her just the same. That became a problem if he was attempting to get Wic away.

"Show's over. If you don't work here, sleep here, or sleep with someone who works here, put your coin on the counter and get out," the warlock called to the room, receiving a few mumbles of disappointment and a chorus of whistles from the few drunken hangers-on. Soon, the bar cleared except the three of them, and the wine was nearly cleaned up. Still, there was tension in Victor's shoulders, his hands firm on his cleaning instrument, prepared to use is as a weapon with his greatsword still tucked away from him behind the bar.

“And for you,” He took a small, unassuming envelope out from his robes and handed it off to Victor. “I know you were looking for more specifics on what we wanted to know, so we came up with a list of topics of import, names of note, and questions we wanted answered. And again,” Wicander frowned, blinking at a wave of fuzz in his vision, cutting himself off. Dizzy again. He readjusted his grip on his staff. Nothing to be done about it now, and so long as he continued the conversation he was sure he could keep that under wraps. It would pass.

“Ah- I’m rude! Excuse me,” He shook his head at his own lack of manners. “Business before introductions, who am I, Kattigan? Victor,” he took Tyranny’s hand in his own and gave it a squeeze, gesturing with it. “This is my dear friend Tyranny. Tyranny, this is Victor.” He smiled at her expectantly.

The demon’s eyes narrowed when the bartender called out, and, no, it was not a wince at the sudden shout, who’d even suggest such a thing? A twist of magic itched to be released. What was this guy planning? If they were alone, would he try to attack them? Separate them and take Wic away like his cover had just been blown– which, okay, it had, but still!! She had no idea how powerful this guy was, and that scared her.

Tyranny moved, stepping closer to help Wic up, only to be met with an extended wet, dripping cloth. She huffed, taking the rag, and, from behind Wicander’s back, with her eyes still glaring at the thing that Wic had found himself in the company of, promptly stuffed the rag into her back pocket.

Her attention shifted back to the one real friend she had on this plane as he grabbed her hand, a light and happy expression on his face. Oh, he had no idea how much trouble he was getting himself into, did he? Still, she kept her grip on his hand tight and maybe held on a bit too hard, but she wanted this monster to know Wicander was hers.

An incredibly poor, forced smile slowly rose up on Tyranny’s expression as she looked back to the barkeep. “Hi,” she said simply, her voice tight and even more forced than the bordering-on-snarling grin on her face. 

He held up fingers as he listed, tapping each one in turn. “That means no drinking, no stealing, and no trying to scare him. Even if you think it would be funny.”

She pursed her lips, frowning at the rules Wic was listing off. “But this is a bar, Wic! Aren’t you supposed to drink? To, like, fit in or something? We gotta keep our presence quiet, don’t we? Drinking would make us blend in a bit more! What if your guy– your new bestie, and honestly, I’m trying really hard not to be jealous– gets mad that we’re not drinking or, I dunno, kick us out or something like that? I heard that happened once..”

“And I don’t usually try to scare, not unless it some big bad evil guy who needs some dealing with– oh! Or someone who really needs some pounding.” Tyranny grinned wide.

Tyranny moved forward, opening up the door Wicander led her to. “C’monnn, I wanna meet this new little friend you’ve made without me.” 

Still, he was a little skeptical about this meeting. Wicander was incredibly... cloying. He was so good, or at least tried to be. It didn't annoy Victor, he supposed, at least not now, but it confused him. So much of this man had him off balance. He saw him as a friend. Julien, who he'd known much longer and much more intimately, was did not give that label, even if Victor would have accepted it more from him.

He wiped down the bar, eyes almost lazily on the door as it opened. His heart dropped. A demon. Pink as a tulip, a spaded tail swinging, bouncing along as she entered. Was she one of Graz'zt's, come to collect something? She could smell him from the door, he was sure. And then, Wicander was behind her, seemingly traveling with her. Fuck no. She would tell him. ...even worse than that, she had her claws in Wic, the way his patron had his claws in Victor. He winced, his eyes falling downward, but not quick enough to stop him from knocking a goblet clear off of the bar, spilling wine across the barroom floor.

“Hello!” Slightly breathless, Wicander grinned up at the man they’d come here to meet. Then he turned to call back to the entrance, gesturing to the wall. “Tyranny, go get that mop! It’s going to set into the wood!”

Her eyes landed on the man who had dropped the ready to be served drink. She knew him to be the source of that smell. Then, though, her gaze dropped to Wic at the sound of his voice, and it made the thing– perhaps described as her heart– drop. This was Wicander’s great, new, amazing friend? This thing reeking of demonic energy?

Tyranny thought of her sisters, her creator, and all those she knew back home. 

Wic. Wic. She really, really wanted to shout a swear word, but that’d make Wicander mad of course and, perhaps, less amusingly so, further draw in the attention of the drunken patrons sitting around. Tyranny knew they didn’t want that, so she kept the rising temptation down. But fuck, Wic, of course– of course– he would fall into such an easy and obvious trap. 

Something in Tyranny told her that this guy could only have bad intentions for befriending Wic. It was the only explanation. Which could mean more demonic forces would know where they are, which would be reallyyyy bad.

Tyranny’s slit yellow eyes stared ahead of her, locked on the beast that Wic called his friend. She knew, she knew, she couldn’t let this go on.

No response came to Wic’s request, not for a number of seconds, all of Tyranny’s focus on what this guy had planned for Wic. Then her eyes finally blinked, and she looked down at Wic. “Huh? Broom?” 

He held up fingers as he listed, tapping each one in turn. “That means no drinking, no stealing, and no trying to scare him. Even if you think it would be funny.”

She pursed her lips, frowning at the rules Wic was listing off. “But this is a bar, Wic! Aren’t you supposed to drink? To, like, fit in or something? We gotta keep our presence quiet, don’t we? Drinking would make us blend in a bit more! What if your guy– your new bestie, and honestly, I’m trying really hard not to be jealous– gets mad that we’re not drinking or, I dunno, kick us out or something like that? I heard that happened once..”

“And I don’t usually try to scare, not unless it some big bad evil guy who needs some dealing with– oh! Or someone who really needs some pounding.” Tyranny grinned wide.

Tyranny moved forward, opening up the door Wicander led her to. “C’monnn, I wanna meet this new little friend you’ve made without me.” 

@heirtohavoc >;)

Oh—Tyranny!

My stars, you can’t just sneak up on a person like that! Were I a soldier I might have drawn my sword!

Yes, I’ve been doing a bit of traveling on my own. I bought myself some new boots, very sturdy—and I’m actually looking for travel clothes in passing as well. Oh! And I learned how to cook! You’re looking at a genuine chef now.

A new look, huh?? Do you need some help with it, I know your colors pretty well. Some hot pink and bright orange and lime green and a dark, dark, dark blue would look great on you!

You cook now, too? Wow, Wic, you've changed a lot in all this time without me. Should I be jealous? What can you cook? I've been dying to try some new foods and sweets. I heard someone talking about some kind of pie and it sounded SO good.