capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

WHO:

sassyqueermage, OPEN
WHERE: Outside the Tower.
WHEN: Today, early evening.
WARNINGS: Sassiness.
SUMMARY: Anders wants a drink. Badly. However, he has no idea where to look.
FORMAT: Prose.

After several minutes of fussing with his radio/communicator/demon box, he had opened up the text file Grace had sent him. He saw several names of what he presumed were pubs, but just to play it safe, he went with the establishment that actually had 'pub' in its name. Joe's Pub sounded good and straightforward. He liked that.

Slipping the radio/communicator/demon box into his bag, his hand skimmed over Ser Pounce-a-lot's back and he smiled as he picked up the cat from the depths of his bag. He slung his bag over his shoulder with his free arm and stood up to begin his trek through this monstrous city.

"Come on, Pounce. Let's hope we don't get ambushed by an ogre or another broodmother," he shivered, beginning to walk.

Then he realized he actually had no idea where he was going.

There were too many signs pointing in more than one direction and he hasn't even begun being freaked out by the fast vehicles on the road (at first he thought it was something he was going to have to kill, but on closer inspection he noticed people in them steering like one would do on a ship).

He could always ask someone for directions as much as it bruised his ego to do so. And he used to be so good at directions.

"Excuse me--can you spare a second--hello, will you--" Anders felt like he was talking to himself with these people brushing past and ignoring the apostate with a big MAGE sign on his back. With the way he was dressed differently, he thought that would at least give him some notice.

Anders looked down at Ser Pounce, absentmindedly scratching behind his ear. "Looks like this is the end of the road, Ser Pounce-a-lot. No food. No drink. Rude people everywhere--" he shot the next person he saw with a venomous look. "--and a demonic box for company.".

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Anders wrinkled his nose in disgust at the suggestion of hairy virgin liquor, fresh from the cellar. Maker, he would not take a regularly hairy drink. This is why he never took mugs from dwarves.

"She. Go." He enunciated, leaning back against his seat, relaxing. "You've already met Ser Pounce-a-lot which just leaves me--the name is Anders."

She had half expected him to find something to comment on regarding her name, but instead she turns her head back towards him to stare at him impatiently as he sounds it out and introduces himself.

"Anders." She says it simply. "That's...an underwhelming name for a wizard."

"Were you expecting Percival the Prolific? How about, Magickanders Master Wizard of the Local Pub," he waved his hands in front of him for effect.

She is unmoved by his dramatics and remains reclining against the uncomfortable booth with an eyebrow arched.

"Something like that. Yeah." she shrugs. "I mean, after hearing the cat's name I was only expecting things to go downhill in the name department."

"My parents didn't name the cat, you know." Never mind that Anders was not his real name to begin with, but he was not going down that route.

"Then I sure feel sorry for your kids if you ever knock someone up." She leans forward, eyes glancing back towards the men still playing pool. She had felt their eyes on her every now and then, probably trying to wrap their heads around whether or not her skin colour was legit or not.

Or maybe because they were wondering about the freak in the dress. The waitress from before snakes her way skillfully through the hair group, and slides the beers to both Shego and Anders and leaves without so much as a hello. She's probably still offended by the brothel comment.

She takes her glass immediately. "But hey, being a wizard must be good for something, boring name or not."

"There's where you're wrong," Anders beamed. "I'm not having children."

He never fancied himself the ~father type particularly with the whole on-the-run thing and mages unable to properly procreate in the Circle without Templars getting their grubby little fingers into it. It wasn't the most pleasant of thoughts, but Anders knew how to threw a smile on even when it should hurt.

"There's the magic, easy access robes~" He sang. "And of course never being able to live your own life, free from oppression, but we can't all have what we want, right?"

He was glad for the beer, cold and comfortable no matter what dimension he was in. He wrapped his hands around the mug, keeping it cool with the slightest bit of magic from his palms, and drank. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the scary burly men and they were watching back.

"If they're thinking of hiring us, they should be warned that you're a masochist and I have standards. I vote you tell them," He pointed to the group casually.

"So there is hope for...well...wherever you come from." She crosses her legs and holds takes a long drink of her beer. It wasn't the most classy beer, but drinking for the sake of getting drunk never exactly called for classy.

She's half-listening to him talk, mind completely gracing over the 'easy access robes', and she set the glass down. "Well that sounds lame. So, what? They lock you up or something?"

But she smirks at his comment about the men, and doesn't hide the fact that she's turning around to look at them for the umpteenth time. "Oh trust me, they're not looking to hire. Leeeet's just say the natives aren't exactly too fond of us "imPorts". Or maybe they're just offended by your dress."

"Yes," he answered honestly. "Big tower. If you ever get taken to Ferelden against your will, I can show you...by pointing you in its direction. You won't see me willingly going back."

Grumble, grumble.

"I guess it's too much to ask for a place without the 'hate me!' stink in the air." Anders frowned at the burly men-that-could-pass-as-dwarves. "If they're looking that carefully at my robes, it is definitely not out of offense."

"Soooo they let you out? Or did you break out?" Because to Shego, it sounded like one big fancy prison.

She leans her elbows on the table and intertwines her fingers, resting her chin on her hands. Her drink is half empty now, and she's looking over Anders' shoulder to check if the waitress was checking up on them. One drink wasn't going to cut it for her, at least not for tonight. "Guess not. But something tells me that even if you weren't a freak, people would still hate you." She continues looking over his shoulder, still conscious of the men looking their way now that the two of them were looking back.

"Oh no, you're clearly their type."

"Let me out? Don't make me laugh," Anders smirked and shook his head at the very notion. "Escaped. Several times, in fact."

All that running paid off. Aside from giving him shapely legs, it came in handy when running around with the Warden-Commander in dank dangerous places. It might also come in handy tonight, but with Shego for company...he'd hate to leave a vicious curvy woman without any support in battle.

"Has anyone ever told you how charming you are?" Anders grumbled, cradling his beer. He chanced another look at the men. "Of course, I am. I'm everyone's type."

Shego looks...nonchalant about his multiple escapes. Escaping from any prison-like structure was of the norm in the villain community, whether by yourself or at the assistance of others, so there was no shock, and definitely no admiration. It takes a lot to impress Shego, after all...or she just does it to keep up a rep of being a bitch. "That would mean something if I knew how well-guarded that place was." She shrugs and finishes her beer, waving the waitress over. "But hey. You're like, .001% less lame knowing that you escaped from some kind of prison. Not that that's much."

The waitress comes over, looking a bit peeved because 'oh hey it's the guy that thinks this is a brothel when clearly i'm one of the few girls here', and Shego motions for another pair of drinks regardless of whether Anders finished his. She needs at least two in her system before she's ready to pluck up the care to start some kind of fight. After all, that's the main reason why she's here. BUT ANYWAY back to Anders, and the fact that the men are now pretty much aware that there's a duo of imPorts lounging in 'their' bar, though they don't let up on their pool playing and shit alcohol drinking.

She reclines, resting her hands behind her head as though this is the comfiest booth she's ever sat in. "Usually the guys who go around saying that are full of crap. A cat-loving wizard in a dress, to me, sounds like the type for a very niche crowd."

"Well-guarded? The guards have sleeping quarters above our heads! They're specially made to round us up and choke the life out of us if we so much as let a stray lightning bolt loose." The Circle wasn't a very light topic.

He was glad for more drink if they were going to continue discussing the Circle at all...or become intimate with those burly men and by intimate, he meant with fists in the face.

"Oh, just wait. I'll grow on you, like a fungus," he responded after finishing off his mug.

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