long may i reign.

“Good to know. Many people make the opposite assumption, but I can’t say I’m really the haunting sort. Don’t see the appeal, myself.” Caoimhe manages a laugh despite the uncomfortable circumstances. Her smile is more genuine with the introduction. “Pleasure to meet you, Matt. Even if it required my barging in.” The question receives a raise of her brow at first – after all, are there fictional smithies? – but Caoimhe is quick to nod. “Aye, quite impressive ones, too, if I say so myself. Think I may have some bias, though.” Her head tilts at the mention of a sale. Another term to run by Faolan later, it seems, as it rings no bells. But from the man’s tone, she can assume it means the lamp has little value. “I see.” She murmurs, though she evidently does not. “Point taken. I’ll… see myself out.” Caoimhe’s not sure if she opens the door so much as she walks through it, but no matter. She waits patiently outside of the room, squinting out the window at the end of the hall in order to give her best attempt at locating where, precisely, she currently is. No such luck. “Damn.”

“Well, fuck assumptions.” Matt twists the end of his lips into a sneer. “Honestly, nobody really knows anything, but they still talk shits ‘cause if they don’t, they get scared shitless.” He speaks up rather genuinely. Maybe his morning (or afternoon) sleepiness got to him. “I know nothing about you other than your name and that you are in my bedroom. Ain’t got no assumption to make from there.” He shrugs before returning an easygoing smile. “Ey, nice to meet ya too.” As she steps (floats?) out of the room, Matt grabs a hoodie and a pair of shorts, getting dressed quick and dirty. He can’t find his phone, though. Must’ve left it somewhere last night. So the hunt begins... “So, this impressive smithy, do you know the name or the general location?” He asks as he goes over to the fridge, gets orange juice and drinks it out of the container. “Any landmark nearby? I gotta go find my phone so I can drop you off on the way, or something.”

“A janky ass beacon, sure” Cal stated back in a bit of a mocking way. At this point of the altercation, plenty of people have exited the bar. Without paying, of course, though the witch’s concerns were less aimed at the state of tonight’s business and more on the lunatics that had brought trouble to Terrance’s. Calliope frowned at the announcement one those mob people. “The fuck are you talking about?” she said with both disdain and condescension. For a supposedly ‘supernatural safe heaven’, Lethe did have its fair share of maniacs.

With the fire beginning to spread and the lamia next to her having little clue as to how to put it out, Cal rushed to grab a broken bottle. “You know it’s commonly more useful to put out fires than start them, right?” she told Matt as she began to use one of the sharp edges of the bottle to quickly scratch an array of symbols on the floor. “Might want to consider a basic course on that” she said before muttering an enchantment. A faint golden glow appeared in the circle due to the witch’s dispelling magic, which caused the fire on the floor to flicker and die out. There was new trouble thanks to the Molotov cocktails, though… “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”.

“Janky beacon, great ass” Matt says with a finger gun. He likes to think that his general ‘live and let live’ vibe and lax lifestyle serve as an example, either a good one or bad one, and helps other relax. What if shits go wrong? Just gotta roll with it. But then again, there are idiots like these fuckers. Even Matt knows what they are spewing is dumb. As one of the idiots push him to the pool table, he grabs a cue ball and smashes it to their face. After kicking that one away, he channels his energy to his hand, lighting the cue ball on fire. Turning to the one who spoke up about message and shits, Matt hurls it across the room and strikes right in the forehead. “Get outta here, nobody cares.”

Matt keeps close to Cal as she draws some sigils on the floor. “Well, if I start a fire, I usually have a good reason to-- case in point,” he gestures around them before grabbing the cue stick on the floor. He uses it to strike a charging, burly man in the crotch. “And I dunno, man. Never really had to put out fires.” The smoke begins to fill the room. Even though he is draining life-force from the mobs whenever he can, but he is definitely growing exhausted. “Isn’t there like, a-- what was it called? Extinguisher?” He says as he drops the stick as it snaps in two after hitting people a few times. 

Is she prone to self destruction? It’s not a diagnosis Evi has ever made for herself, but she recalls it from others. Look at what you do to yourself, her mother had told her once, looking at the hair Evi had shorn herself with a pair of kitchen scissors. But she likes to think she’s outgrown it. A one-off fling with Matty fucking Miles, however… that might be evidence for the prosecution. And so the sight of him isn’t exactly one she’s overjoyed about, especially when she spots a tell-tale paper bag in his hand. Booze – whiskey, if she remembers his tastes right. Terrific. “Not much.” She replies simply, weary from a day spent in the sun and the seemingly constant temptation of alcohol. It really can be exhausting. “How’re you? It’s, uh, been a second.” Pointedly. She’s good at turning street corners quickly when she has to in order to avoid unwanted company. Not so lucky this time. “Oh.” Evi replies, realizing how acutely stupid she must sound. Look, too, with how she raises her hand to her own ear. “One of the, ah, aqua one. Right.” As if it makes a difference to him. They were pricy, though, and are personal favorites. What are they worth to her, really? Enough, her gut tells her. Fok. “I’m assuming you don’t have it sitting in your pocket right now.” That’d be too easy, wouldn’t it?

Matt hums to himself, cocking his head to the side and watching her. Running into your random hookups without the booze to numb your senses or the neon lights of the night is not the best feeling in the world... or so he’s been told. Honestly, Matt doesn’t understand what is there to be awkward about. “Well, there was a fire at Terrance’s,” he conveniently drops the part that he technically started it by accident. How was he supposed to know they were carrying Molotov cocktails? “So I’m kind of on a vacation.” He steps aside to the mouth of an alleyway. He fishes out a cigarette and lights it with a tiny blue flame on the tip of his hand. He tips the packet toward Evi, offering her one. “Don’t know what that means exactly. Is it the blueish one?” He asks with the cigarette hanging between his lips. “It’s not like I planned on running into you. It’s back at the apartment. I’m on my way back there, if you wanna grab it. I can just drop it off at your work too--” he offers before his impish nature pushes him for teasing her, “or would that be too embarrassing for you?”

Cal let out a sigh. She couldn’t say she knew Matt very well yet but she had noticed he did have a knack for that… she just wasn’t aware that such a proclivity could lead to a hoard of angry drunks wanting to beat him to a pulp or stab him. And by extension, they wanted to do that to her too since she’d gotten herself involved. Mama would be so proud. “That’s so reassuring” she said with a deadpan look to her coworker. The lamia had some pretty neat tricks under his sleeve and Cal could appreciate that he could drain those bastards of their energy. Rendering to useless blobs on the floor was one way to end a fight, after all. The witch didn’t stop and stare to admire his skills, though, she continued to fend off against another asshole that tried to attack, throwing a kick that hurled him backwards towards a table. When she turned she saw the dude in flames fall down on a pool of alcohol on the floor, which quickly caught fire. “Ah, fuck…”. She nudged at Matt. “Well? Are you putting that out or do I have to?” she asked as she tilted her head towards the fire. She could work on a conjuring to vanquish the flames but he was a goddamn lamia. His kind could control fire so he should be able to make it vanish, right? Though clearly he wasn’t the most proficient little devil with his fiery skills.

“I know, I’m like a shining beacon of hope.” Matt flashes her a brazen grin. All jokes aside, he doubts that these assholes are here for him specifically. Terrance’s is a bar well-known for its brawls, and most bartenders know how to hold themselves at fight-- sometimes Matt wonders if that’s how Terry hires people. Why would they deliberately start a fight here? He looks over the shoulder where Brad and Spencer are at, and hears the mob going-- “we are here to send a message!” “You’re either with us, or against us!” Matt raises a brow, muttering to himself, “well, that’s dumb.” 

At this time of the day, Matt would usually be working or bar hopping. But since Terrance’s is under repair and several bars are closed for business to stay out of trouble, he is unusually free tonight. Beside, he is still recovering from some bruises and cuts from the rumble. That wouldn’t stop him from getting a drink, though. He bought himself a bottle of whiskey and coke, and a bag of chips. On his way out of the bodega, he almost runs into the familiar face. Evi is... a friend, even though she stopped being his supplier. “‘ey, what’s up,” he greets with a small smirk, stepping aside from the door. He tries to remember something, and goes “ah, right, that’s what it was-- you left an earring at my place.” 

“New for me, too, I assure you.” Caoimhe is quick to give a fleeting smile, her eyes darting around the room, trying to orient herself with where she is at present. Nowhere familiar, but that isn’t unusual these days. Most places don’t quite ring a bell just yet. Her brow quirks at the mention of time, but she won’t argue. Doesn’t quite have the right, she thinks, given her entrance. “I’m Caoimhe. One of the – er –” She was about to say fae folk, but that hasn’t been true for some time. “I’ve become what most people around here call a shade, I believe. But no worries, I haven’t shown up to haunt you. Just… haven’t quite oriented myself yet, I suppose. This certainly was not where I intended to reappear. Didn’t mean to disappear in the first place actually…” Does this count as a haunting, anyway? How the logistics change when you yourself are the specter. “It was worth a try,” she shrugs when the man is unable to direct her. “If you ever do need a sword fixed, I know the gentleman for the job.” Caoimhe’s brows quirk for a moment, then she laughs. “Ah. Yes, that would be nice, if only I could actually partake in a pint nowadays.” She really should give up on the jokes. “Anyhow…” her gaze drifts back to what she knocked over and Caoimhe winces. “Believe I may have broken that.”

Matt hums as he leans back against the bedpost. He honestly doesn’t mind finding strangers in his bedroom. That tends to happen when you get drunk and hook up with people. But this is... well, not that case. He knows that experience, being something that’s discussed among people. “Eh, I didn’t think you were here to haunt me. Honestly, I’d pity the lot that would end up haunting ,e/” He jokes dryly, rubbing the back of his head. “You can call me Matt.” He says. He highly doubts that he would need a blacksmith-- he can’t think of anyone who would go to a smithy, aside from Terry who is like a dinosaur. “Is it like an actual smithy? Like with armors and swords?” he asks as he begins to climb out of the bed. He stops himself, remembering that he is not fully dressed. “Eh, don’t worry about it, I got it from a garage sale. Pretty sure it was already done for.” He waves off her concern about the lamp. “And you should probably wait outside. I’ll... try to look for this smithy of yours afterward.” 

Cal glanced towards Matt and gave him a nod. “Not too shabby yourself. The fire trick is neat” she told him with a nonchalant smirk, casually pointing at his fist that had been engulfed by flames a moment ago. Just then the other guy approached, spewing out curses about how she’d just taken down his best buddy or something. “Oh, your pal is a scumbag” she stated flatly before she dodged a punch and kicked the man in the knee repeatedly, before throwing a high kick to hook the front of her boot to his neck and bring him down as she rotated her hip, smashing his face to the floor. “Did you piss off these guys or something?” she shouted in Matt’s direction before doing a spinning hook kick to defend herself from another aggressor. “Yeah, no, I didn’t bring that amulet today, man” she said sarcastically, since the kind of witchcraft she had specialized in worked around potions and amulets. “Let me see your hand” she quickly commanded and as the lamia held out his bleeding hand to her, she used her charmed tourmaline ring to absorb the pain from Matt’s wound. The wound itself didn’t vanish but it did become smaller and the witch moved forward, skillfully dodging an attack to go ahead and land a punch straight to a guy’s throat. What her ring had absorbed from Matt was then released into that guy, who struggled to shout as he gripped his throat and looked down at his palm, where a small cut appeared.

“If you ever change your mind about leaving it all behind, remember. Remember-- no geography. Me, you and me. Him and her and them too. And you and me too. I

Cal touched her jaw one more time, a ring with a black stone in one of the fingers that brushed against the aching area. She narrowed her eyes at the asshole that hit her as she composed herself, standing straight. “That was a mistake, pal”. This wasn’t the first time some guy rose a hand to her and that was the very reason Calliope had learned to rely on more than just magic to defend herself, even more so having grown un in a place where her magic was her most precious secret. Luckily for her, she could make ample use of both strength and magic here. “I said back off, bit-” the guy began to say right as he launched himself towards her to land another hit. This time it didn’t connect, as Cal quickly stepped aside and threw a roundhouse kick right to the man’s abdomen. “You wanna call me ‘bitch’ one more time? You sure about that?”. The dude lied on the floor as Cal looked down on him. She reached down to tap his shoulder and the man let out a pained groan. The black tourmaline encrusted on one of her rings was a charmed gem, one meant to ease pain. It took away physical pain, which was contained inside the gem until she performed a cleansing spell or released it on someone else. She rose up and kicked him in the leg before turning to Matt. “Yeah, I’m fine” she said, before her attention was caught by some dude who glanced down at his fallen friend and decided it was a good idea to come towards her next.

Matt glances over the shoulder, checking how Cal is faring. He raises the brows as he blocks the incoming hook with his forearm, mildly impressed by her perfect kick. “Nice.” He comments with a smirk. He grabs the hood of the guy in front of him, pulls it down to block the sight before taking reeling his head back. He swings forward drawing an arc, and headbutts the assailant with a loud crack. Matt clocks him with his elbow, finishing off. As he turns to Cal, he catches the glint of a knife lunging toward Cal. He grabs it out of instinct, and channels the sharp pain on his palm into conjuring flame. In a flash of bright blue, the knife and the arm is set on fire. “I take it back-- I don’t think they are here for a brawl.” He sucks in the air as blood drips from his palm. He takes a few steps toward where Cal is. “You’re a witch, right? Got any magic woohoo to make these fuckers disappear?” he asks with a low chuckle. 

She’d heard that bar brawls took place at Terrance’s from time to time, but frankly, she thought they were more along the lines of drunken clients shouting at each other, maybe tossing a glass to the floor… not people crashing empty bottles in each other’s heads and pulling out the magic to defend and attack. In a place like Lethe, teeming with supernaturals of all kinds, she should’ve seen that coming. The witch let out a sigh and looked at Matt as he managed to get a blue flame ablaze dancing in his hand. Calliope could throw down if it came to it, but as indifferent as Terry seemed to be to run a good business, she wasn’t looking to cause trouble in his establishment and get fired so soon. “Guys, come on” she said, somewhere between stern and annoyed, moving towards one of the guys to try and break the fight. “Back off, bitch!” the brute drunkenly slurred as he threw a left hook right to her face. “Motherf-” Cal muttered as she pressed her hand to her jaw. Any attempt at playing mediator and resolving the situation in a calm manner vanished from her mind in that instant.

Matt walks out of the men’s room, zipping up his pants after hooking up with a random fae guy (who is now passed out on the toiler after Matt drained the life force dry). Stretching his back, he struts out to the bar where he hears the sound of brawling, as per usual. From behind him, the new bartender Cal comes out of the women’s room as well. “Think we’ve got a bar fight going on,” he says gesturing toward the bar, and then he puts up this devilish grin. “You had the proper Terrance brawling yet? ‘cause I’d love to see what you’ve got, Cal.” 

With that, Matt rushes out, grabs an empty beer bottle on the way and smashes it across the head of a hooded figure. After tossing away the broken bottle, he snaps his wrist repeatedly, rhythmically, muttering “c’mon, c’mon, c’mon” as if he was trying to get an old lighter to work. After a second or two, his fist lights up in bright azure flame. “There we go!” He yells out and throws a perfect uppercut at his stumbling victim.