Vistor's day, already? Every time this day comes, I wonder if this is the deities' method of choosing their next victims. A practice run.

Personally, I hope not.

Also if happen to meet a dapper gentleman with blonde hair, dressed in Hugo Boss or Armani, he, in fact, likely possesses a vagina. You know where not to find me, Charlotte.

[ The screen snaps on to show a man on a white Arabian, and judging from the clean press of his clothes, whoever this man is has got some clams. Or dollars, as you might call 'em.

He pulls a cigarillo from his pocket and lets it perch between his lips as he talks. ]

I'm gonna make this quick.

Us Felixses— we've been raisin' prize-winning horses for generations. If you got a damn good horse, high chance it's one of ours. But let me tell you something, we don't take well to thieves. Family stories say that my granddaddy tarred, skinned and quartered the last sonvabitches who thought they could make off with our goods. I'm aimin' to make him proud.

In other words, I'm looking for someone to kill a man.

And if you're reading this right now, thief, I assure you that you'll be lucky if end up as gallows-fruit.

[ If you're one to frequent the Blue Light, there's a good chance you've been served by Amory Felix.

On a sight alone, he's a nondescript brunette, underweight and of medium stature, who goes about his job in a manner of quiet confidence. If you've never spoken to him before, you've probably heard whispers about him-- that he's been in the City for ages-- over three years, which in a town like this, might as well mean eternity; others say he's an asshole, and just by observing his behavior your impression of him may range from inscrutable to aloof to even unfriendly. Amory has never been the sort of bartender to go about making lively conversation in an effort to panhandle for tips. Beyond casual throw-a-way remarks, he hardly makes conversations with his customers. Instead, he'll make you a mean drink, maybe one of the best you've ever had: from old classics to on-the-spot concoctions. He wants to be unnoticeable, rather than to draw attention to the fact that he has been a bartender here as long as he has. You ask an eighteen year old Amory what he planned to do at twenty-five, and the last thing he'd say is bartending.

But on this night, it's hard not to notice Amory Felix thanks to a large vermilion bird perched on the bar. It's an odd looking bird, which almost makes you wonder if it's even a bird in the first place. Scarlet pinions covered with feathers in varying crimson hues sweep across the counter. She looks majestic and proud, and yet its feathers are ruffled in that way of distressed birds, the creature itself as spare as its owner.

Nevertheless, the bird stands there proudly as it surveys the bar with keen obsidian eyes that behold intelligence. She's large enough to fill up an entire section of the counter.

Amory is noticeably self- conscious about the creature, shooting it looks as he finishes up a lemon droop. ]

Can't you pick a less conspicuous place to stand?

[ Humor in her melodious tone, the bird snaps back. ]

No, I quite like it here. 

( You know we don't allow animals in the bar. )

In Marlowe's infamous tale, the scholar and scientist Faust makes a deal with the devil for the price of his soul. He was smart guy, I mean, really, he thought he knew everything that there was to know, everything except for Magic. And for that, he damns himself to hell.

In another version of the story, Faust once again makes a deal with the devil for magic, though this kind of magic is in fact the sexual pleasures of a woman named Gretchen. Restored youth's just a throw-in prize. But in the case of this story, it's uncertain whether the bastard gets stuck in hell-- or whether he's redeemed.

But it's just a story that never happened.

Two years ago, I made a trade with the deities for a horse. Looks like I'm still in one piece?

[ He pauses. ]

Now, how about I cut  you a deal? Anyone who has made a trade, come to The Blue Light tonight and tell me about it. I'll treat you to a drink in exchange. And trust me, I'll know if you're lying to me.

(ooc: Apologies for dropping tags on his last post! ;; My hiatus is over and I should be back up to speed. )

[  There's something strange about Amory Felix today. For one, the uncanny brightness of his stare. Then there's his relaxed posture and just the general ease of contentment that seems to emanate from him, belying the dark circles beneath his eye and the swallow color of his skin.

He stands in front of a workshop table, cluttered with various diagrams and paper, some depicting diagrams, others covered with lines of mathematical formula. In the corner of the table, you can see a book--Cosmology by Sean M. Carroll. And behind him, you can see part of the DeLorean --- yes, yes, he is in Doc Brown's workshop. ]

That curse we had a few days ago--

[ He raises an eyebrow. ]

You know, the one where everyone was being incredibly frank.

[  Despite his usual diatribes, it's hard to tell whether he's being perfectly serious, for his tone is notably jocund. He's having fun. As he talks, he tinkers with some type of mechanical device, unaware that his fingers are shaking.]

When I was nine, my father taught me that to get anything accomplished, you need to be disingenuous.  You have to say what you mean to say without saying it at all.  Because nobody wants to hear the truth, even if they say otherwise, even if ultimately proves beneficial.

Except--  I realized that I liked being earnest.

[ The slightest grin pulls at his lips. ]

Come on, you can't tell me it didn't feel great to say what you truly felt.

[ The desert at night  could be called beautiful, as illusory as that may be, with the moon casting a pale illumination onto the endless sea of sand.

In the darkness, it's difficult to see, but a man is trudging his way to the base of a sand pile. Reflected in the moonlight is a bottle of vodka, held tightly in his left hand. And with his right:

Zip, zip, zip--- yes, he's taking a piss. ]

Fate-damned desert.

And then--- a sharp cry cuts through the air, the cry of a monstrous-sized scorpion bursting right up through the sand. Not even having the chance to pull up his pants, Amory dives and tumbles to the side.  Clack, clack, clack goes the clicking of giant claws. ]

You got to be kidding me----

[ The monster goes in for another attack, this time with its tail, and it's only by a hair that Amory manages to dodge. He does so extremely ungracefully, twisting to the side and landing head first in the sand.

Amory's breath is quick, the sudden movement causing stars to blur in  front of his vision. He's suddenly lightheaded. Taking a moment to breath, he stretches a hand toward the creature and closes his eyes, just for a moment. A medium sized globe of fire flares up with a roar.... lighting his own hand on fire. That was not intended. You see, that was meant for the monster.]

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck-

[ Oh god it hurts it hurts it hurts. He buries his hand in a pile of sand to set off the fire, while trying to calm down the flames with his mind. But his nerves are running at a breakneck speed, so it's hard to concentrate on anything but panic.

The giant scorpion roars again, and with that, it raises another claw and sends it slamming into the sand below. Distracted by his hand, Amory is not quick enough to make a clean dodge, and he rolls away, leaving a streak of blood across the sand, shining red in the moonlight.

Crouching behind a large mound of sand, he  attempts to hides himself from the creature, one hand clutching his side as he breaths heavily.  ]
( ooc )

[ There's a horse on the network: a white Arabian tied to the post beneath the shade of a large oak tree. The animal's white coat is damp with a sheen of sweat, his nostrils flared. Beside him lies a trough, filled to the brim--- with sand. From the spigot above the trough, a steady stream of sand continues to flow. A rare look of honest concern crosses Amory's features, as he draws his fingers through the coarse-white mane of his companion. His other hand holds the communicator.  ]

I need someone who can use magic.

[ He clenches his jaw, looking to the side, before choosing to speak again.  ]

Someone who can conjure water. [ Pause. ] Please.