outlaw

"Damn shame." Oakley supposed he had it better than most, he already knew that home was more about the people you spent it with than a place you went back to. Dimwitted as the rider might have been he'd been lucky to have at least one person in his corner. Oakley could shed a tear, he wouldn't, but if he wanted to he figured he could probably bring something up from the well. There was still the great mystery of what was even standing in front of him now, but Oakley had never been very good at puzzles so he settled into the silence instead, sighing a bit as he shook his head to punctuate his point. Oakley thought Rome was the place where creatures like this one were best able to find themselves, that's what his friends had said anyways, that there were all kinds of supernaturals here: this stranger would find his pack in no time.

"And I guess you're the better for it ?" Given the other's recommendation and curiosity, she was clearly an advocate for the coven life. A murky haze hung over his predilections towards isolation, his father had been adamantly opposed to outsiders, that trickled down to his son as well. "Sounds like you found them," Ryder thought about what the witch had said about found family, and considered the importance of it; the strength. Now and then he needed to remind himself that whatever he was, a witch wasn't among them, not anymore. "your family, I mean."

"I've always done better on my own." Ryder thought vaguely of the example that he had of family, the man that was- there was a glimpse of something dark; the haunted howls of blood running over an altar, the fragrant scent of raw flesh, howls that were too monstrous to be natural beasts, and the enchanted cry of a mad man devoted to an unnamed God. Ryder's lip quirked, "Not everyone is looking for a family. How did you come by the Narcissus?" The Watcher had hinted enough that she'd been one such individual who'd come upon the coven and claimed a stake of her own. The Narcissus is ancient, bloodied, and proud. He'd known of them a century ago, and the city still whispered worriedly about them today.

A fellow witch. Ryder took a moment to move towards the woman and close some distance between them; he had to remind himself that the two weren't the same. Not anymore, anyway. Terror. Something forbidden that was living in a mask that was meant to be a convenient or clever disguise. If Oakley had ever had a thought before in his life, he might have considered the opportunities behind this. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. Ryder was more methodical and patient in observing the rest of the world. "That's nice of you." Ryder's comment was simple before he followed up with a deeper inquiry, "Are you part of one of the Covens? This city..." The world had changed dramatically since the last time he'd set foot outside the forest. "Everything feels like it's happening very quickly."

This one was... This guy sure was something. When he was just a boy, he'd seen a pack of wild horses with the largest stallion he'd ever seen at the head. There was an old mare close behind him, and when Oakley asked if they'd go after them, his dad had told the young boy that some horses weren't meant to be broken. Oakley remembered that creature's poise and dignity; this man somehow reminded him of that, which seemed just crazy because this was a guy, not a horse. Of course, looks could be deceiving. "Home is these old boots, and a few close friends." The saddle. "You?"

Ariston thinks if that is going to be someone who would survive the ghosts well it would be a cowboy, they're use to large spaces and strange company -- people forget all the social customs when they're stuck out at a ranch and instead inhibit odd quirks from a well-worn life of comfortability. "Seat is all yours." He was sipping out a coffee cup of his own, hot pink with craft feathers and plastic beads glued on to say The Stanley Hotel, it was homage to the hotel that inspired the Shining and was veiled enough to not give the whole game away. "Planning to play it in?" He was going to become a fox and hop around in it. "Did you sleep well?" Hopefully the ghost that played a tuba with every step of the guest that he haunted didn't give him too much trouble.

"I'm not too used to it," Oakley drawled as he scratched at his temple and looked out the window. "looks cold." A sheepish response as he looked at the other's cup, he wondered who Stanley was and why the druid would be bringing someone else's hotel cup here but it looked very... Pink. Pink was a perfectly fine color. Masculine and strong. "Ghosts didn't bother me too much if that's what you mean." There'd been a flood on the floor below him because some wraith had turned all the faucets on. "I like your mug, did you buy that around here?"

Someone was making an absolute racket. It wasn't a dying animal, he'd checked that already with a bit of magic. No, it was something else. Or someone else, perhaps. Their music was so barbaric, it made Levent remember why he never bothered to listen to it in the first place. There were terrors that liked to roam, and this one was here now, terrorizing the wildlife in true nature. "The fey don't like your music," Lev deadpanned, though he was certain that even if they did, it wouldn't last long.

"Noise complaint from the neighbours?" That wasn't good, but at least the face that came out was a friendly one, a nice one too. "Line dancing ain't nothing but a few two steps." Admittedly Oakley had more experience than the others with this, he was pretty light on his feet. Twinkle toes with nothing between the ears. Oakley slipped his hat off his head, drawl in full effect as he held it against his chest. "You wanna give 'er a try?" He'd stopped playing the banjo so there wasn't any music now, but once again, nobody had ever accused Oakley for being particularly bright.

English was rusty for him, but Kaito still felt like this guy was talking as if he had peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth. He tried his best to pay attention to every word though. All he really picked up was the mention of snow so it definitely had something to do with the weather. He picked up the glass of wine that he had made himself because the hotel certainly didn't have that on demand. He waved a hand towards the seat. "Go right ahead." He lifted his glass slightly. "Are you actually staying here? Like you're actually a customer? You paid to be here?"

Oakley sat and then scratched idly at the side of his head. "Ah've slept in worse places before; this hotel ain't so bad." He brought the mug up to his lips and made a face at this terrible cup of coffee that he'd made for himself. It really was awful here; the spirits did a lot to try and spook him, but the terror didn't frighten him easily. Truthfully, he was usually the one doing the frightening but this demon in front of him was the scary one. "So are you one of thuh sexy ones?" Oakley asked; he knew there were different kinds of demons; well, he knew there was a kind that had sex with people. "You got a client here or somethin'?" That'd explain the wine, would it? Who knew, certainly not Oakley.

"And the home of the brave." It's instinct by now, to finish the phrase with a little harmonizing and Nimet freezes as she does. Clearly, leaving the United States had been a good choice, if the irritating little ditty of their national anthem had become an instinct after singing it for sports games and other things alike. She hides the irritation carefully, knowing how American's are about their national spirit, and forces herself to blush in faux embarrassment instead, raising her gloved hands to cover her cheeks. "Apologies, I am used to singing the anthem and it just came out. Silly of me, I know," she offers as her explanation and sets aside her annoyance that she had done it in the first place. "In the saddle? Are you a rancher, then? Or one of the cowboys from the movies?" The inquiry is curious, meant to change the topic of conversation and carefully pry into the accent of his. She is lucky she traveled within his country, otherwise it would have been a trial and a half. "Oh, I like La Musa," she admits, lips pulling back into a pearly white smile that the spirits would know as a threat but any other would see as a kindness. "It's so full of history, and that gives it life in it's own way. Though, right now the company is proving to be far more charming."

"Hey, ya 'ave a nice singin' voice. Ya soun' like ya could be on thuh radio." Maybe she was? Oakley wouldn't know; the only thing he listened to in his room was Garth Brooks, Ms. Cline, and Ol'Loretta. If this woman in front of him listened closely, she might hear the wind whistling through his ears. For a fleeting moment, his green eyes looked a little past the stranger as he noticed a picture on the wall covered in dust; this place sure was dirty. Oakley had slept in stables that were less grimy than this hotel. "Well ah've never worked awn a ranch, an ah've never been in a movie." Oakley wasn't good with numbers, that's why Sawyer always held onto the money, but he figured it had been a long time since him and his brother had been herding cattle. "Not many longhorns aroun' here anyways." Wasn't a lot of work either, the trains that Oakley had seen were faster than any he'd seen before. Would be tough to jump off of one of those and live. "Do ya plan on stayin' long?"