Jeanne's smile made Feenai very happy, as well as relieved. She looked over at the commotion between everyone else but decided to ignore it. "I guess when they finish fighting...we'll be leaving?" she whispered to Jeanne. "I'll go wherever you go, as long as you don't mind my company."

She was tempted to open her mind to the Network again but hesitated. In truth, Feenai felt that she could not drop her shield just yet. While looking at the Network did distract her enough to not really pay attention to the random thoughts, she still wished for her mind to be silent. I'll research telekinesis another time.

"Excuse me of my emotions, of which that man clearly has none of," Dante smirked, face a bit more flushed than he had intended. Breeeeeeeeaaaaathe, idiot. After holstering the guns, he did exactly that -- one deep breath in, one out... Oxygen did wonders, apparently. He put his knife (which he had dropped into his scarf, making yet another hole) away, and was quick to pull on his shirt and chestplate. Medkit...scarf...bag of money...

"...Anyone want a drink later? It's on me...I guess. The pub's completely legit, not sketch at all, ha, ha."

Michael turned his eyes from Lev to the blind assassin. He didn't necessarily want to defend him, more so than nip the conflict at the bud before it grows into something troublesome.
"Thank you sir. As you can see, it's my breakfast time. Any gunshots within that time would ruin the little peace that I'm enjoying right now."
A wall of psychic force defended Michael from any physical attack that could've been triggered from the impromptu negotiations. He grabbed another bite out of his sandwich, keeping focus on the situation more than anything else that could've been used against him.
"So then, guman of Tsavo. What danger do you speak of?"

Lev turned his head to look at Michael, thumping his own chest with his revolver to indicate himself.

"It has been attentioned to me that I do thing not natural. I consumed bodies. Eat them. I...don't quite remember. But it best that girl and I leave, or I attempt to begin the eating of some of you. I think. That sounds...correct."

He nodded to Michael, looking as serious as he possibly could (which was all the time).

"I tell you this so you may tell others. So that you have fair chance. I fight by some of you. Some of you have put me back together. So, I warn you. I think that is fair. And I would regret the eating you. Well, some of you. It could be one time thing. I...do not remember details. I just wish to let you know that an eating could happen."

Dante let out a low, dark chuckle. "I doubt you'd want to eat me...I doubt that chunk of my arm was easy to chew. ...Anyways, tossing revenge aside...You two drink? Or--" he forced a wide grin, "--you girls? We might as well, before we start gutting each other...or get gutted by others."

He tossed the coin bag up a few times, in part to drive off the lingering feelings of anger and vengeance, in part because he hadn't had this much money for weeks.

Jeanne nodded to Fee. "I don't want to get caught in this," she said quietly, eyeing the three men with distaste. With her luck they'd all end up wounded, and she'd have to heal them all.

Fortunately, their argument was seemingly postponed and replaced with talks of alcohol, something that Jeanne could be quite a fan of in moderation. "Of course," she said to Dante. She opened her mouth to say more when Ree stormed off and down the manhole.

"Well." Jeanne didn't want to be the first to follow Ree - in fact, she hardly wanted to follow the woman at all. There was something very wrong about her. She glanced at the manhole and then at Lev to see what he would do.

Lev watched Rue make her way to the manhole, raising an eyebrow as she did. He gave her a few seconds before he excused himself from the group.

"I must go. Remember."

With that, he went cautiously down the manhole. He still gripped his revolver in his hand, making him take his time as he carefully lowered himself. Once again he felt relief as shoes touched grimy flooring.

Returned!

Lev walked forward slowly, cautiously making his way back to where...where he knew he had done something. Could he have really ate those things?

More! Consume!

He batted at something near his ear with his offhand, cautiously coming up on Rue's huddled form.

RIPE FLESH! Amongst the feast! Presents herselftofeedwemustfeedtheFLESHiswrithingwithwarmt h!

He eased behind her with the stealth of a feline, steps not making a sound as he came within reach of Rue. His eyes stared at the back of her head, contemplating her for a moment before he spoke.

"What are you doing?"

Lev nodded to her, beginning to instantly take stock of everything he might need. He took a brief moment to realize he didn't know where he was going exactly, which might decide on what he might need.

"To assist, I need know where we are going. And what we are doing. And for record, I will not eat you. And I am not sure about this 'voice' you speak of. I do not hear anything."

Lev followed shortly afterwards, tailing her silently. He kept his revolver out mostly for display, making sure that his presence was the only one the two of them had to worry about. He began to make a list of the various things he would need, including weapons, food, supplies, and various odds and ends that could come in handy on the road. No one seemed to bother them, and from their looks and Lev's smell, it was easy to see why.

Dante kept down a snarl as the whiff of Dybbuk assaulted him again, but he could see that his target and the maniac had been getting restless. The drinks would have to wait for later. To Do List: Get masks unless we want to die every time that damn sewer is opened.

"Well...Seems like we're heading out. At least I am. I'll be tailing the girl no matter what."

Watching Dante drop back into the sewers, Shealtiel muses to the rest of their company, "I do believe that man is a clinical psychopath."

Looking over at Michael, he says "It seems they're returning to the city. If you're planning to engage in any of the looting you mentioned so fondly earlier, it might be wise to follow them. I imagine the gates are somewhat heavily defended at the moment. And I'm certain our actions earlier did not go unnoticed. If we do return, it would be best to keep a low profile."

"So it seems," Michael said to Altiel. He had already holstered his gun a while ago and only just finished his breakfast when he saw the blind assassin jump down the sewer. "I agree that we should return to the city soon, but I want the rest of them to get a bit ahead first.
"But first of all, what do you plan of me, servant of Sheol? No one with psychic powers had mentioned anything, but it still goes without saying that they, including you, know that I have some sort of relation with Jez'ebel." Michael kept his voice down, returning his normal mental defense back to par. Despite the friendly nature of Feenai and her healer-friend-no. It was because of their friendly nature that Michael wished for them to be as far away from his personal qualms as possible.

"Hmm?" Shealtiel is somewhat surprised at the question. "Are you expecting judgment for that? She is a woman, human -- delusional, perhaps, in my own opinion -- but of our kind. Ultimately understandable." He slides a narrow glance toward the young man. "I feel as though I should ask the same of you. It's uncommon not to be brandished a necromancer or warlock after revealing my abilities. After all, I could have as easily raised that horde as dispersed them."

I could go for some drinks right now... Feenai grabbed Jeanne's hand and pulled her along to the sewer entrance. Urg, I'm going to have to drop my shields in order to get the Network guidance to get back to town, since Dante already ran off... At least it will distract my senses so I don't have to smell that AWFUL smell again.

Feenai quickly released her shields and attached her mind to the network so as to keep out any floating voices. She made sure Jeanne was following her as she led them both back to town, hoping to find Dante and get those drinks he suggested.

Dante had been pacing around the Dybbuk area for the past several minutes when he heard footsteps. Hm...that's...what's her name...Feenai, was it. With some relief, he quietly followed the girl and her theurgist friend.

I'm such an idiot! Could've gotten lost.

A long and pretty awkward pause erupted between the necromancer and Michael as Feenai and the healer scrambled down the manhole.
"I do believe..." Michael tried to begin but needed to pause to regain his thoughts. The question wasn't unexpected, when he thought about it, but it came by surprise to him anyways. "I believe that power, in whatever manifestation, and in the way you used it was noble." Michael wasn't talking naturally anymore. He was struggling to grasp the right words in order to completely formulate his thoughts. "I plan to repay you, with more than interest, and then I wish to ask you a favor, not now but at a later time."
He could think of a thousand things more to say to the old man, but left it at that because he felt that it was sufficient for the time being.
"Now then Altiel, I think our 'friends' went far enough. Shall we take the gates or the sewer?"
"It seems as though he doesn't think too highly of Jez'ebel. I'm still too accustomed to Babylon," thought Michael.

Studying the young man, Shealtiel gives thought to their situation. Going through the sewers would be an unpleasant experience for Michael. THe Servant of Sheol can ward his own senses from the fetor of the Dybbuk, but he has no ability to share that blessing with others.

"Back through the gates, I should think," he says at length. "I don't anticipate any trouble, and if so... well, I'm sure maverick charisma can see us through." He chuckles and motions toward the warehouse's entrance.

"Of course," Michael said, following him to the door. "There should still be some people still alive who saw us, and if not, I recharged the laser anyways." Michael kept a grin on as he said this, despite the growing concern inside of him. He needed to get another shield, before anyone finds out anymore about him without him wanting to.

A familiar thought signature brushed up against Feenai's mind and her lips started tingling. She looked back and saw the faint outline of Dante following her and Jeanne. "Dante? You can walk closer to us, if you like," she said casually, trying hard to not blush. "And I think drinks would be a lovely idea. Perhaps we could find a place to wash off this smell too?" She continued walking and soon reached the spot where they had first entered the sewers. She wasn't sure if Dante knew exactly where the tavern was that they were going to, so she didn't seal off her mind from the network as she climbed out of the sewers. Wow. That's a nice motorcycle.

A shower would be really nice... Dante clambered out of the waterways, gagging. Never...gonna...go there again...MY BIKE! He ran over, nearly tripping, and resisted the urge to hug what had been his only friend for the past couple of years. Whew...no one stole it...or the capsules.

He pulled the motorcycle upright, dusting it off. "Now then, would you ladies like to lead the way?" Why do I have to ask for help again....I wouldn't have to if it hadn't stank so much down there.

"Yes, but let's not go to the same one we were at before..." Feenai pulled up the Network map and led them along the back streets. She felt guilty for hearing Dante's thought but also was amazed at how much he could do even while blind. I wonder what I would do in such a situation? Feenai shook her head and stopped pondering that line of thought.

She reached the tavern and went inside, again gravitating towards a spot not quite near the entrance, but not very far away as well. After sitting she turned to Dante. "I'd like something mild, because I feel like drinking more than one tankard today."

Shealtiel and Michael make their way back to the city. The trip takes roughly an hour, in the course of which they exchange terse conversation, mostly concerning what course of action they should take when they arrive.

As the red night finally lifts, they come within site of Corinth's walls, passing over the heaps of Dybbuk ringing the area where they made their stand yesterday. Shealtiel quests out into the wastes, but finds no trace of the Rephaim, which is a relief. Typasius must have damaged it grievously. On their own, Rephaim can't heal naturally.

They find the gates open once more. Atop the falls, figures can be seen in silhouette against the rising sun.

"What a walk, and a talk for that matter. Let's go back to the tavern and play a little game of catchup before the militia catch on to our friends."
Michael kept quiet on the last part to keep those other than Altiel out of the reach of his voice.
Looking ahead there were two hooded silhouettes on the road which Michael didn't recognize. "Well who are these two?" he thought to himself, but when he blink, the figures disappeared. "How nice." Michael knew that in this weakened place, the peace can only last so long. Making his way, with Altiel, to the tavern, he kept an eye out for the blind assassin and the others. He knew that they were heading in the same general direction so it wouldn't have been that hard to spot any of them on the streets. However, the effort came in vain because they spotted neither Lev nor Bella and as the two walked into the tavern, the blind man, healer, and novice psychic were having drinks.

"Our fellowship has broken," Shealtiel observes. At Michael's questioning look, he says, "Never mind. It was before your time. Shall we join our felicitous companions?"

Lev nodded awkwardly, seemingly out of his element entirely now. Entering his own private room with the caution that a zebra might enter a crocodile infested river with, he peered around before fully entering.

The focal point of the room was a slightly beaten tub, filled with hot water. He almost gasped in awe. Water! Enough water to fill an entire tub! And he was going to bathe in it. In Tsavo there had never been enough water. People died of dehydration, or risked the water that poisoned the river banks. But this...people were able to afford the luxury to bathe in water. But the luxury came at a cost. He frowned as he pulled his revolver out, tension rising in his mind as he pieced future events together.

For him to bathe, Lev would have to remove his clothing. To be naked was vulnerable. To be naked was every weakness exposed. Every tool out of reach. Nothing to protect him. But if he was stay with the girl, he would still have to wash. Perhaps he could find some sort of compromise.

After searching the room for any other entrances, he proceeded to remove his clothing with one hand, still clutching his revolver. It took a few moments to disrobe, made no less complicated by his unwillingness to part with his firearm. After completely undressing, he cautiously touched the top of the water. The heat made him recoil slightly, not used to such...comforts. Finally he eased himself in, heart racing as more and more of him disappeared beneath the water line. He held his revolver with a death grip, the barrel never moving from the door as he adjusted to his very wet predicament.

After a quarter of an hour, he began to try to wash himself. The rough bar of soap was hard to hold with one hand, and lathering himself down was an odd concept he had only heard in stories of how people used to live. He awkwardly rubbed the bar against his face, not daring to stick his head below water to wash it off. To put his head underwater could spell suicide, with anyone able to just hold him there until he drowned. Eyes staring furiously at the door, he sprinkled the steaming water on his face in an attempt to remove the soap. Now the only thing he had left to deal with was his agonizing breath.

Putting two and two together that soap helped with things like cleanliness and not smelling, he promptly stuck the bar in to his mouth. The taste was terrible. Horrendous, bitter. But Lev held it there, using his tongue to push the bar around ever so slightly in an effort to clean his mouth. After a very long minute, he spat it out in to the tub. Using his spit to clean his mouth out, he eventually decided he had had enough of this 'bathing' ordeal. He stood up quickly, getting out of the tub as water cascaded down his scarred figure. Awkwardly drying himself off with a towel and his one free hand, he decided that maybe baths were not worth what he was being paid, should the situation arise again.

Dante pulled a chair closer, took a seat, and...

"Hm...why don't you girls order something for yourselves, and I'll pay? ...Oh, and...I suppose you two over there can have a drink, too," he added, noticing the two that had just entered the tavern.

"I suppose we shall." Shealtiel crosses the room to seat himself at the table, Michael a step behind him. "I can't imagine they have much in the way of variety here, but, I suppose we'll make do." Looking around, he adds, "It seems we've lost the most troublesome members of our small company, though, I imagine we'll be seeing them again."

Feenai mentally slapped herself for not replacing her shields earlier, as the rather loud thoughts of all the new people started invading her mind. She pushed them out of her head and replaced her shields as she dropped the Network connection. "I'll just start with some mead then?" She saw Jeanne nod in agreement.

She took a better look at the older man. His mention of "troublesome" members automatically brought her mind back the the previous events with Ruebella, and she had to work hard to not narrow her eyes in disgust. Realizing she had started staring, she averted her eyes and addressed everyone. "Wherever you all are headed, John and I agreed with each other that if you didn't mind our company, we would come with you. Does that sit well with all of you?"

"The two of you? Certainly not, as long as the Theurge can stomach my presence." Shealtiel's eyes sweep between them. "However," he says, turning to regard the blind man, "If you're going to be accompanying us as well, I require assurance that you won't act so... precipitously, in the future. Tell me, Dante, are you capable of controlling yourself? Of reining in all that rage and indignation?"

The hunter mused silently. My name? Hm. but of course, they can read minds. He grinned wryly. "Put yourself in my place. Would you be able to? As long as that man isn't within a hundred feet of me, I should be able to stop myself from throttling him...I think. Anyways, I don't think I'd like to be eaten."

Rumors of the attack quickly slipped in and out of Michael's ears as he tried to keep up with the conversation and listen to the background chatter at the same time. A few names in the group slipped through to Michael: John and Dante. Although 'John' seemed like a peculiar name for a girl in Michael's opinion, he figured that Feenai didn't realize her gender quite yet.
"So I was right in assuming that Bella was the red cloaked person. Good. I now have all the names down," Michael thought congratulating himself. He bought a pint of 'dirt-water' under Dante's tab, despite his preference for wine hence the name.
The people, however, were the greater attraction to Michael. Some said that he and Altiel took down the entire army with their bare hands and then battled the Saint toe to toe. Other claimed that the Saint did all of the work and that they were just imagining. In any case, none of them could really describe Michael or Altiel very well, so they were deprived, for better or worse, of that reputation.
Michael took another sip of his drink before joining the conversation at hand.
"It's fine with me, Feenai, but the way I see it, John's a guy's name."
"If I'm not mistaken," he thought after.

Fee ordered mead, which Jeanne had never had; however, her grandmother had always told her that wine was precious and she didn't want to make Dante pay for it. So instead she just nodded.

She was not very comfortable being around the old man; like Ree, something was inherently wrong about him, and Jeanne didn't trust him at all. Fortunately his focus left her quickly and moved to the blind man, whose name she learned was Dante. Looking around at the others, Jeanne realized that two of the group were missing, but said nothing. After all, she wasn't particularly fond of one and the other seemed to die far too often for her liking.

A man's voice brought her out of her thoughts. "In most places, it seems to be," she said, shrugging. "But in France, Jeanne is a woman's name."

"Ah, it's Jeanne, then. You don't happen to be from France, are you?" Michael corrected the name in his head. "Well then, Jeanne, you may call me Michael, or Mike if that is more convenient, local artificer and Occlumency specialist," Michael said to her, extending his hand.
"An intresting person, at the very least. Let's see what she thinks of me, before I decide what is to be done. She is the healer after all, and you know what is said about the healer: 'don't piss off the healer'."

Glancing back to the theurge, Shealtiel nods slowly. "Indeed. Like the Saint of Arc, who now commands the defense of Alexandria. A severe woman, I have heard. Hardly surprising."

He shrugs, and accepts his drink when it is delivered. It has been... long since he has indulged in such pleasantries. He sips slowly, savoring the taste.

Jeanne nodded at his question before setting down the book so that her hand was free to shake his. "Nice to meet you," she said while eyeing his hair. It was the same color as the old man's, but Michael seemed to be fairly young. She made a mental note to figure out why.

Surprised by Shealtiel's next words, she nodded. "Yes, I was named after her." Jeanne stopped talking just as her mead was served, and she took a sip with caution. To her surprise it was actually quite pleasant, and she took another.

Dante juggled several coins and dropped one before handing them over. Seething inwardly (Seriously? I managed to drop it?), he gulped half of his Madras and stopped, feeling his throat burning. Aaaoooooooooowch. He'd forgotten he hadn't had much to drink for the past few weeks besides the tonic from the night before. And then pride caught up with him. He couldn't let everyone else think he was a drunkard, now, could he?