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	<title>15169/Immortal Libations - Revision history</title>
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	<updated>2026-11-06T13:42:34Z</updated>
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		<title>PoeWolf at 00:12, 16 June 2023</title>
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		<updated>2023-06-16T00:12:17Z</updated>

		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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				&lt;td colspan=&quot;2&quot; style=&quot;background-color: #fff; color: #202122; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;← Older revision&lt;/td&gt;
				&lt;td colspan=&quot;2&quot; style=&quot;background-color: #fff; color: #202122; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;Revision as of 00:12, 16 June 2023&lt;/td&gt;
				&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td colspan=&quot;2&quot; class=&quot;diff-lineno&quot; id=&quot;mw-diff-left-l7&quot;&gt;Line 7:&lt;/td&gt;
&lt;td colspan=&quot;2&quot; class=&quot;diff-lineno&quot;&gt;Line 7:&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;}}&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;}}&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;{{Poses&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;{{Poses&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot; data-marker=&quot;−&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #ffe49c; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;|Poses=:&#039;&#039;&#039;{{#var:8683|Connor Macleod (8683)}} has posed:&#039;&#039;&#039;&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;It was a rainy night in June in New York. The sounds of a live band were coming from Joe&#039;s Bar. The Bronx was quiet, but the music was grand. Jazz, Blues, real mellow music was streaming through the street, a real good vibe.&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;There were the regulars, all seated and drinking - listening to the tunes. A few voices could be heard, quiet and respectfully of the music. Ah, a Sax solo starts, going for a couple of minutes, bringing a bitter ambiance to the room. The bartender pauses for a few moments, closes his eyes, and listens.&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;In the darkest corner, the lights dimmed for the music, was a man nearly hidden from prying eyes. This was a trenchcoat wearing Connor MacLeod. He takes a sip of his scotch, and watches the stage with slight warmth to his eyes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot; data-marker=&quot;+&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #a3d3ff; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;|Poses=:&#039;&#039;&#039;{{#var:8683|Connor Macleod (8683)}} has posed:&#039;&#039;&#039;&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;It was a rainy night in June in New York. The sounds of a live band were coming from Joe&#039;s Bar. The Bronx was quiet, but the music was grand. Jazz, Blues, real mellow music was streaming through the street, a real good vibe.&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;There were the regulars, all seated and drinking - listening to the tunes. A few voices could be heard, quiet and respectfully of the music. Ah, a Sax solo starts, going for a couple of minutes, bringing a bitter ambiance to the room. The bartender pauses for a few moments, closes his eyes, and listens.&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;In the darkest corner, the lights dimmed for the music, was a man nearly hidden from prying eyes. This was a trenchcoat wearing Connor MacLeod. He takes a sip of his scotch, and watches the stage with slight warmth to his eyes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot; data-marker=&quot;−&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #ffe49c; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;:&#039;&#039;&#039;{{#var:7988|Amanda Deveraux (7988)}} has posed:&#039;&#039;&#039;&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;The door to the bar opens and a woman steps inside. The long, black coat conceals her outfit, the fine leather shimmering from the rain. A tilted fedora hides her face as well, all but those smiling lips.&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;The moment she steps inside, Connor&#039;s immortal senses spike. He is no longer among only mortals.&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;The brim of the fedora lifts as Amanda senses it as well, like two magnets coming close enough to react to each other&#039;s field.&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;It&#039;s a public place, and Amanda takes her time to let her eyes sweep the crowd. Hands remove slowly from her pockets, and she saunters slowly around to Connor&#039;s table. &quot;Good evening. Is this seat taken?&quot;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot; data-marker=&quot;+&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #a3d3ff; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;:&#039;&#039;&#039;{{#var:7988|Amanda Deveraux (7988)}} has posed:&#039;&#039;&#039;&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;The door to the bar opens and a woman steps inside. The long, black coat conceals her outfit, the fine leather shimmering from the rain. A tilted fedora hides her face as well, all but those smiling lips.&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;The moment she steps inside, Connor&#039;s immortal senses spike. He is no longer among only mortals.&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;The brim of the fedora lifts as Amanda senses it as well, like two magnets coming close enough to react to each other&#039;s field.&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;It&#039;s a public place, and Amanda takes her time to let her eyes sweep the crowd. Hands remove slowly from her pockets, and she saunters slowly around to Connor&#039;s table. &quot;Good evening. Is this seat taken?&quot;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot; data-marker=&quot;−&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #ffe49c; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;:&#039;&#039;&#039;{{#var:8683|Connor Macleod (8683)}} has posed:&#039;&#039;&#039;&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;The music was mellow, and filling the room. That was when the sense of something &quot;ominous&quot; pushes its way into Connor&#039;s subconscious. It was a feeling of dread mixed with an electricity of perception. The feeling that was unique in the immortal realm. The presence of another Immortal...&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;Connor sips his scotch. It was a fine vintage. 100 years old. Peaty and smooth. It reminds him of...a brief memory flashback cutscene was interrupted by his eyes finding the woman who has just arrived.&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;&quot;It is not. Please.&quot; Connor motions to the seat with his eyes and a slight tilt of his head. Then his eyes find the barkeep. &quot;Joe. Whatever the lady wants is on my tab.&quot;&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;Joe simply nods, and goes to work. &quot;What would the lady like this evening?&quot; His accent was...strange. Scottish, but seemingly from &quot;lots of places&quot;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot; data-marker=&quot;+&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #a3d3ff; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;:&#039;&#039;&#039;{{#var:8683|Connor Macleod (8683)}} has posed:&#039;&#039;&#039;&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;The music was mellow, and filling the room. That was when the sense of something &quot;ominous&quot; pushes its way into Connor&#039;s subconscious. It was a feeling of dread mixed with an electricity of perception. The feeling that was unique in the immortal realm. The presence of another Immortal...&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;Connor sips his scotch. It was a fine vintage. 100 years old. Peaty and smooth. It reminds him of...a brief memory flashback cutscene was interrupted by his eyes finding the woman who has just arrived.&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;&quot;It is not. Please.&quot; Connor motions to the seat with his eyes and a slight tilt of his head. Then his eyes find the barkeep. &quot;Joe. Whatever the lady wants is on my tab.&quot;&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;Joe simply nods, and goes to work. &quot;What would the lady like this evening?&quot; His accent was...strange. Scottish, but seemingly from &quot;lots of places&quot;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot; data-marker=&quot;−&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #ffe49c; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;:&#039;&#039;&#039;{{#var:7988|Amanda Deveraux (7988)}} has posed:&#039;&#039;&#039;&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;Amanda Deveraux unbuttons her long coat, showing leather pants and a low-cut blouse beneath... also black. The hat is removed with a flourish and she settles, leaning back comfortably and crossing one foot over the other.&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;Amanda smiles warmly, inclining her head. &quot;Ah, a gentleman.&quot; she offers. &quot;Thank you.&quot; Looking to Joe, she adds. &quot;I&#039;ll have whatever he&#039;s drinking. Scotch, I believe. And rather old.&quot;&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;For a moment she regards Connor. &quot;I am wondering how it is that we haven&#039;t met. I&#039;m Amanda.&quot; Her own accent is quite clean, although an experienced ear would pick up traces of French.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot; data-marker=&quot;+&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #a3d3ff; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;:&#039;&#039;&#039;{{#var:7988|Amanda Deveraux (7988)}} has posed:&#039;&#039;&#039;&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;Amanda Deveraux unbuttons her long coat, showing leather pants and a low-cut blouse beneath... also black. The hat is removed with a flourish and she settles, leaning back comfortably and crossing one foot over the other.&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;Amanda smiles warmly, inclining her head. &quot;Ah, a gentleman.&quot; she offers. &quot;Thank you.&quot; Looking to Joe, she adds. &quot;I&#039;ll have whatever he&#039;s drinking. Scotch, I believe. And rather old.&quot;&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;For a moment she regards Connor. &quot;I am wondering how it is that we haven&#039;t met. I&#039;m Amanda.&quot; Her own accent is quite clean, although an experienced ear would pick up traces of French.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot; data-marker=&quot;−&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #ffe49c; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;:&#039;&#039;&#039;{{#var:8683|Connor Macleod (8683)}} has posed:&#039;&#039;&#039;&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;Connor watches the woman go through her arrival. Of course he takes in what she was wearing...and carrying. With a smile, Connor rises slightly, and sits as Amanda does. &quot;There are few gentlemen left. I learned from the best, a Spanish Peacock.&quot; Connor grins, remembering.&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;&quot;And you are most welcome.&quot; Connor nods to Joe. &quot;As the lady wishes. The Macallan it is.&quot; Connor raises his glass, and taps it for a refill. Joe grabs the bottle, covered in dust, and his cane, and slowly makes his way to the table. The older, bearded gentleman looks at Amanda in recognition but doesn&#039;t say anything. After leaving the filled-to-the-brim glasses behind, he goes back to the bar, and waits for the next set of music.&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;&quot;Well...&quot; Connor sips the Scotch, and sighs. His eyes closed. They open half way, and his eyes almost smile. &quot;I am perhaps glad we haven&#039;t, because I still have my head.&quot; Connor&#039;s smile is now reflected on his face. &quot;I am Connor. It is a pleasure to meet the Raven.&quot; Connor nods his head in true respect, his eyes looking into hers. &quot;Truly.&quot;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot; data-marker=&quot;+&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #a3d3ff; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;:&#039;&#039;&#039;{{#var:8683|Connor Macleod (8683)}} has posed:&#039;&#039;&#039;&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;Connor watches the woman go through her arrival. Of course he takes in what she was wearing...and carrying. With a smile, Connor rises slightly, and sits as Amanda does. &quot;There are few gentlemen left. I learned from the best, a Spanish Peacock.&quot; Connor grins, remembering.&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;&quot;And you are most welcome.&quot; Connor nods to Joe. &quot;As the lady wishes. The Macallan it is.&quot; Connor raises his glass, and taps it for a refill. Joe grabs the bottle, covered in dust, and his cane, and slowly makes his way to the table. The older, bearded gentleman looks at Amanda in recognition but doesn&#039;t say anything. After leaving the filled-to-the-brim glasses behind, he goes back to the bar, and waits for the next set of music.&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;&quot;Well...&quot; Connor sips the Scotch, and sighs. His eyes closed. They open half way, and his eyes almost smile. &quot;I am perhaps glad we haven&#039;t, because I still have my head.&quot; Connor&#039;s smile is now reflected on his face. &quot;I am Connor. It is a pleasure to meet the Raven.&quot; Connor nods his head in true respect, his eyes looking into hers. &quot;Truly.&quot;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot; data-marker=&quot;−&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #ffe49c; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;:&#039;&#039;&#039;{{#var:7988|Amanda Deveraux (7988)}} has posed:&#039;&#039;&#039;&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;Amanda lifts a brow at the mention of the Spanish Peacock. &quot;And I learned from a French Lady.&quot; she replies, her smile becoming wistful. Amanda watches Joe, her gaze lingering perhaps longer than would be considered polite in most circles.&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;&quot;Macallan, then. I thought I recognized the smell.&quot; the woman replies. &quot;Connor. The Highlander. And if you know anything about me, you know that I&#039;m not actively trying to raise my tally.&quot;&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;The woman leans back a little in her seat. &quot;In any case, I am not eager to cross swords with the one who defeated the Kurgan.&quot; And with that, it is Amanda&#039;s turn to nod in respect.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot; data-marker=&quot;+&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #a3d3ff; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;:&#039;&#039;&#039;{{#var:7988|Amanda Deveraux (7988)}} has posed:&#039;&#039;&#039;&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;Amanda lifts a brow at the mention of the Spanish Peacock. &quot;And I learned from a French Lady.&quot; she replies, her smile becoming wistful. Amanda watches Joe, her gaze lingering perhaps longer than would be considered polite in most circles.&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;&quot;Macallan, then. I thought I recognized the smell.&quot; the woman replies. &quot;Connor. The Highlander. And if you know anything about me, you know that I&#039;m not actively trying to raise my tally.&quot;&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;The woman leans back a little in her seat. &quot;In any case, I am not eager to cross swords with the one who defeated the Kurgan.&quot; And with that, it is Amanda&#039;s turn to nod in respect.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot; data-marker=&quot;−&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #ffe49c; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;:&#039;&#039;&#039;{{#var:8683|Connor Macleod (8683)}} has posed:&#039;&#039;&#039;&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;Connor raises his glass respectfully in a salute. &quot;To our mentors. Missed but not gone. Or forgotten.&quot; Connor takes a sip of the Scotch with a small sigh. Connor puts his glass down on the table. &quot;Ignore Joe. He&#039;s a Watcher, and tends to overstep himself.&quot; Connor&#039;s smile reveals he was half-kidding.&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;&quot;Ah. You recognized the Scotch. Respect.&quot; Connor&#039;s smiles turns into a grin. &quot;A Lady who knows her drink. Ah&#039;m impressed.&quot;&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;Of course she would recognize him. &quot;I am the Highlander. Tha&#039; original.&quot; A chuckle. &quot;Ah&#039;m not looking to raise my tally as well. There has already been too much killing.&quot;&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;Connor lifts his glass, and takes another drink. &quot;The Kurgan.&quot; Darkness flashes across his eyes, a struggle for a moment, as the Kurgan&#039;s dark quickening struggles to take over. After a brief conflict, it was gone, as was the next Jazz tune that wallows through the air.&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;&quot;There will always be those of us that follow the light, and the darkness. Ah&#039;m glad to hear you are one of us.&quot;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot; data-marker=&quot;+&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #a3d3ff; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;:&#039;&#039;&#039;{{#var:8683|Connor Macleod (8683)}} has posed:&#039;&#039;&#039;&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;Connor raises his glass respectfully in a salute. &quot;To our mentors. Missed but not gone. Or forgotten.&quot; Connor takes a sip of the Scotch with a small sigh. Connor puts his glass down on the table. &quot;Ignore Joe. He&#039;s a Watcher, and tends to overstep himself.&quot; Connor&#039;s smile reveals he was half-kidding.&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;&quot;Ah. You recognized the Scotch. Respect.&quot; Connor&#039;s smiles turns into a grin. &quot;A Lady who knows her drink. Ah&#039;m impressed.&quot;&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;Of course she would recognize him. &quot;I am the Highlander. Tha&#039; original.&quot; A chuckle. &quot;Ah&#039;m not looking to raise my tally as well. There has already been too much killing.&quot;&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;Connor lifts his glass, and takes another drink. &quot;The Kurgan.&quot; Darkness flashes across his eyes, a struggle for a moment, as the Kurgan&#039;s dark quickening struggles to take over. After a brief conflict, it was gone, as was the next Jazz tune that wallows through the air.&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;&quot;There will always be those of us that follow the light, and the darkness. Ah&#039;m glad to hear you are one of us.&quot;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot; data-marker=&quot;−&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #ffe49c; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;:&#039;&#039;&#039;{{#var:7988|Amanda Deveraux (7988)}} has posed:&#039;&#039;&#039;&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;Amanda lifts her glass as well. She takes a sip, eyelids growing heavy as she savors the liquor with a slow, deep breath. Swallowing, she echoes. &quot;To our mentors.&quot; The woman flashes a smile over in Joe&#039;s direction, then. &quot;A Watcher? He got a rugged attractiveness about him. Like Richard the Lionheart.&quot; A wink follows.&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;Amanda watches the shift in his expressions, remaining quiet until the music once more clears the air.&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;&quot;One of -who-, exactly?&quot; she replies, playfulness returning. &quot;Darling, I have been called many things, but a &#039;follower of the light&#039; is pretty far down on the list.&quot; She shrugs. &quot;Then again, don&#039;t be fooled by all the black, either. This Raven may be a creature of the night, but that doesn&#039;t mean I follow the darkness.&quot;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot; data-marker=&quot;+&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #a3d3ff; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;:&#039;&#039;&#039;{{#var:7988|Amanda Deveraux (7988)}} has posed:&#039;&#039;&#039;&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;Amanda lifts her glass as well. She takes a sip, eyelids growing heavy as she savors the liquor with a slow, deep breath. Swallowing, she echoes. &quot;To our mentors.&quot; The woman flashes a smile over in Joe&#039;s direction, then. &quot;A Watcher? He got a rugged attractiveness about him. Like Richard the Lionheart.&quot; A wink follows.&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;Amanda watches the shift in his expressions, remaining quiet until the music once more clears the air.&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;&quot;One of -who-, exactly?&quot; she replies, playfulness returning. &quot;Darling, I have been called many things, but a &#039;follower of the light&#039; is pretty far down on the list.&quot; She shrugs. &quot;Then again, don&#039;t be fooled by all the black, either. This Raven may be a creature of the night, but that doesn&#039;t mean I follow the darkness.&quot;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot; data-marker=&quot;−&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #ffe49c; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;:&#039;&#039;&#039;{{#var:8683|Connor Macleod (8683)}} has posed:&#039;&#039;&#039;&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;Connor laughs. &quot;Yes, he does. Richard the Lionheart. Now he&#039;s going to be hard to deal with for the next week.&quot; Connor grins as Joe tries to hide his blushing and &quot;swabs&quot; the deck with his rag. &quot;Ah mortals.&quot; Connor shakes his head.&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;&quot;Oh. One of the few who are &quot;good guys&quot; versus the &quot;soldiers&quot; of darkness. I am sure you know what I mean. Those immortals who have let their gifts corrupt themselves.&quot;&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;&quot;It is one thing to take care of youself and want what is best for yourself, and those who strive for power. I am happy running an antiiques dealership and wait for the Gathering. As you have your own predilections.&quot; A grin.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot; data-marker=&quot;+&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #a3d3ff; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;:&#039;&#039;&#039;{{#var:8683|Connor Macleod (8683)}} has posed:&#039;&#039;&#039;&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;Connor laughs. &quot;Yes, he does. Richard the Lionheart. Now he&#039;s going to be hard to deal with for the next week.&quot; Connor grins as Joe tries to hide his blushing and &quot;swabs&quot; the deck with his rag. &quot;Ah mortals.&quot; Connor shakes his head.&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;&quot;Oh. One of the few who are &quot;good guys&quot; versus the &quot;soldiers&quot; of darkness. I am sure you know what I mean. Those immortals who have let their gifts corrupt themselves.&quot;&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;&quot;It is one thing to take care of youself and want what is best for yourself, and those who strive for power. I am happy running an antiiques dealership and wait for the Gathering. As you have your own predilections.&quot; A grin.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot; data-marker=&quot;−&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #ffe49c; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;:&#039;&#039;&#039;{{#var:7988|Amanda Deveraux (7988)}} has posed:&#039;&#039;&#039;&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;Amanda smiles knowingly at Joe&#039;s blushing... mission accomplished. &quot;Well if not being a &#039;bad guy&#039; makes me a &#039;good guy&#039;, then I supposed that I&#039;m guilty as charged.&quot; Her smile turns wry, then. &quot;May I call on you as a character witness the next time I&#039;m being questioned by the police?&quot;&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;&quot;I am something of a collector, myself.&quot; Amanda adds. &quot;And yes, power has very little interest for me as an end goal. I&#039;m simply trying to stay in the &#039;game&#039; as long as possible.&quot; She swirls her glass, then. &quot;Perhaps I could stop by your antique dealership sometime? I have a few very old bottles of wine, and we could catch up.&quot;&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;&lt;/del&gt;br&lt;del style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;\&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/del&gt;Amanda sips slowly, then adds. &quot;Unless you believe all the stories about me, that is. I really hope you don&#039;t. But it will be fun either way.&quot;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot; data-marker=&quot;+&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #a3d3ff; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;:&#039;&#039;&#039;{{#var:7988|Amanda Deveraux (7988)}} has posed:&#039;&#039;&#039;&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;Amanda smiles knowingly at Joe&#039;s blushing... mission accomplished. &quot;Well if not being a &#039;bad guy&#039; makes me a &#039;good guy&#039;, then I supposed that I&#039;m guilty as charged.&quot; Her smile turns wry, then. &quot;May I call on you as a character witness the next time I&#039;m being questioned by the police?&quot;&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;&quot;I am something of a collector, myself.&quot; Amanda adds. &quot;And yes, power has very little interest for me as an end goal. I&#039;m simply trying to stay in the &#039;game&#039; as long as possible.&quot; She swirls her glass, then. &quot;Perhaps I could stop by your antique dealership sometime? I have a few very old bottles of wine, and we could catch up.&quot;&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&amp;lt;&lt;/ins&gt;br&lt;ins style=&quot;font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;&quot;&gt;&amp;gt;&lt;/ins&gt;Amanda sips slowly, then adds. &quot;Unless you believe all the stories about me, that is. I really hope you don&#039;t. But it will be fun either way.&quot;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;}}&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;diff-marker&quot;&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-size: 88%; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 1px 4px; border-radius: 0.33em; border-color: #eaecf0; vertical-align: top; white-space: pre-wrap;&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;}}&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/table&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>PoeWolf</name></author>
	</entry>
	<entry>
		<id>https://www.unitedheroesmush.com/index.php?title=15169/Immortal_Libations&amp;diff=31748&amp;oldid=prev</id>
		<title>PoeWolf: Created page with &quot;{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2023/06/01 |Location=Joe&#039;s Bar, Kingsbridge, The Bronx |Synopsis=Two Immortals have a glass of Scotch, and remember... |Cast of Characters=8683, 7988 |pretty=yes }} {{Poses |Poses=:&#039;&#039;&#039;{{#var:8683|Connor Macleod (8683)}} has posed:&#039;&#039;&#039;\&amp;lt;br\&amp;gt;It was a rainy night in June in New York. The sounds of a live band were coming from Joe&#039;s Bar. The Bronx was quiet, but the music was grand. Jazz, Blues, real mellow music was streaming through the str...&quot;</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="https://www.unitedheroesmush.com/index.php?title=15169/Immortal_Libations&amp;diff=31748&amp;oldid=prev"/>
		<updated>2023-06-16T00:01:57Z</updated>

		<summary type="html">&lt;p&gt;Created page with &amp;quot;{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2023/06/01 |Location=Joe&amp;#039;s Bar, Kingsbridge, The Bronx |Synopsis=Two Immortals have a glass of Scotch, and remember... |Cast of Characters=8683, 7988 |pretty=yes }} {{Poses |Poses=:&amp;#039;&amp;#039;&amp;#039;{{#var:8683|Connor Macleod (8683)}} has posed:&amp;#039;&amp;#039;&amp;#039;\&amp;lt;br\&amp;gt;It was a rainy night in June in New York. The sounds of a live band were coming from Joe&amp;#039;s Bar. The Bronx was quiet, but the music was grand. Jazz, Blues, real mellow music was streaming through the str...&amp;quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;New page&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div&gt;{{Log Header&lt;br /&gt;
|Date of Scene=2023/06/01&lt;br /&gt;
|Location=Joe&amp;#039;s Bar, Kingsbridge, The Bronx&lt;br /&gt;
|Synopsis=Two Immortals have a glass of Scotch, and remember...&lt;br /&gt;
|Cast of Characters=8683, 7988&lt;br /&gt;
|pretty=yes&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;br /&gt;
{{Poses&lt;br /&gt;
|Poses=:&amp;#039;&amp;#039;&amp;#039;{{#var:8683|Connor Macleod (8683)}} has posed:&amp;#039;&amp;#039;&amp;#039;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;It was a rainy night in June in New York. The sounds of a live band were coming from Joe&amp;#039;s Bar. The Bronx was quiet, but the music was grand. Jazz, Blues, real mellow music was streaming through the street, a real good vibe.\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;There were the regulars, all seated and drinking - listening to the tunes. A few voices could be heard, quiet and respectfully of the music. Ah, a Sax solo starts, going for a couple of minutes, bringing a bitter ambiance to the room. The bartender pauses for a few moments, closes his eyes, and listens.\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;In the darkest corner, the lights dimmed for the music, was a man nearly hidden from prying eyes. This was a trenchcoat wearing Connor MacLeod. He takes a sip of his scotch, and watches the stage with slight warmth to his eyes.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
:&amp;#039;&amp;#039;&amp;#039;{{#var:7988|Amanda Deveraux (7988)}} has posed:&amp;#039;&amp;#039;&amp;#039;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;The door to the bar opens and a woman steps inside. The long, black coat conceals her outfit, the fine leather shimmering from the rain. A tilted fedora hides her face as well, all but those smiling lips.\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;The moment she steps inside, Connor&amp;#039;s immortal senses spike. He is no longer among only mortals.\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;The brim of the fedora lifts as Amanda senses it as well, like two magnets coming close enough to react to each other&amp;#039;s field.\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;It&amp;#039;s a public place, and Amanda takes her time to let her eyes sweep the crowd. Hands remove slowly from her pockets, and she saunters slowly around to Connor&amp;#039;s table. &amp;quot;Good evening. Is this seat taken?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
:&amp;#039;&amp;#039;&amp;#039;{{#var:8683|Connor Macleod (8683)}} has posed:&amp;#039;&amp;#039;&amp;#039;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;The music was mellow, and filling the room. That was when the sense of something &amp;quot;ominous&amp;quot; pushes its way into Connor&amp;#039;s subconscious. It was a feeling of dread mixed with an electricity of perception. The feeling that was unique in the immortal realm. The presence of another Immortal...\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;Connor sips his scotch. It was a fine vintage. 100 years old. Peaty and smooth. It reminds him of...a brief memory flashback cutscene was interrupted by his eyes finding the woman who has just arrived.\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;&amp;quot;It is not. Please.&amp;quot; Connor motions to the seat with his eyes and a slight tilt of his head. Then his eyes find the barkeep. &amp;quot;Joe. Whatever the lady wants is on my tab.&amp;quot;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;Joe simply nods, and goes to work. &amp;quot;What would the lady like this evening?&amp;quot; His accent was...strange. Scottish, but seemingly from &amp;quot;lots of places&amp;quot;.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
:&amp;#039;&amp;#039;&amp;#039;{{#var:7988|Amanda Deveraux (7988)}} has posed:&amp;#039;&amp;#039;&amp;#039;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;Amanda Deveraux unbuttons her long coat, showing leather pants and a low-cut blouse beneath... also black. The hat is removed with a flourish and she settles, leaning back comfortably and crossing one foot over the other.\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;Amanda smiles warmly, inclining her head. &amp;quot;Ah, a gentleman.&amp;quot; she offers. &amp;quot;Thank you.&amp;quot; Looking to Joe, she adds. &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;ll have whatever he&amp;#039;s drinking. Scotch, I believe. And rather old.&amp;quot;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;For a moment she regards Connor. &amp;quot;I am wondering how it is that we haven&amp;#039;t met. I&amp;#039;m Amanda.&amp;quot; Her own accent is quite clean, although an experienced ear would pick up traces of French.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
:&amp;#039;&amp;#039;&amp;#039;{{#var:8683|Connor Macleod (8683)}} has posed:&amp;#039;&amp;#039;&amp;#039;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;Connor watches the woman go through her arrival. Of course he takes in what she was wearing...and carrying. With a smile, Connor rises slightly, and sits as Amanda does. &amp;quot;There are few gentlemen left. I learned from the best, a Spanish Peacock.&amp;quot; Connor grins, remembering.\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;&amp;quot;And you are most welcome.&amp;quot; Connor nods to Joe. &amp;quot;As the lady wishes. The Macallan it is.&amp;quot; Connor raises his glass, and taps it for a refill. Joe grabs the bottle, covered in dust, and his cane, and slowly makes his way to the table. The older, bearded gentleman looks at Amanda in recognition but doesn&amp;#039;t say anything. After leaving the filled-to-the-brim glasses behind, he goes back to the bar, and waits for the next set of music.\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;&amp;quot;Well...&amp;quot; Connor sips the Scotch, and sighs. His eyes closed. They open half way, and his eyes almost smile. &amp;quot;I am perhaps glad we haven&amp;#039;t, because I still have my head.&amp;quot; Connor&amp;#039;s smile is now reflected on his face. &amp;quot;I am Connor. It is a pleasure to meet the Raven.&amp;quot; Connor nods his head in true respect, his eyes looking into hers. &amp;quot;Truly.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
:&amp;#039;&amp;#039;&amp;#039;{{#var:7988|Amanda Deveraux (7988)}} has posed:&amp;#039;&amp;#039;&amp;#039;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;Amanda lifts a brow at the mention of the Spanish Peacock. &amp;quot;And I learned from a French Lady.&amp;quot; she replies, her smile becoming wistful. Amanda watches Joe, her gaze lingering perhaps longer than would be considered polite in most circles.\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;&amp;quot;Macallan, then. I thought I recognized the smell.&amp;quot; the woman replies. &amp;quot;Connor. The Highlander. And if you know anything about me, you know that I&amp;#039;m not actively trying to raise my tally.&amp;quot;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;The woman leans back a little in her seat. &amp;quot;In any case, I am not eager to cross swords with the one who defeated the Kurgan.&amp;quot; And with that, it is Amanda&amp;#039;s turn to nod in respect.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
:&amp;#039;&amp;#039;&amp;#039;{{#var:8683|Connor Macleod (8683)}} has posed:&amp;#039;&amp;#039;&amp;#039;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;Connor raises his glass respectfully in a salute. &amp;quot;To our mentors. Missed but not gone. Or forgotten.&amp;quot; Connor takes a sip of the Scotch with a small sigh. Connor puts his glass down on the table. &amp;quot;Ignore Joe. He&amp;#039;s a Watcher, and tends to overstep himself.&amp;quot; Connor&amp;#039;s smile reveals he was half-kidding.\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;&amp;quot;Ah. You recognized the Scotch. Respect.&amp;quot; Connor&amp;#039;s smiles turns into a grin. &amp;quot;A Lady who knows her drink. Ah&amp;#039;m impressed.&amp;quot;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;Of course she would recognize him. &amp;quot;I am the Highlander. Tha&amp;#039; original.&amp;quot; A chuckle. &amp;quot;Ah&amp;#039;m not looking to raise my tally as well. There has already been too much killing.&amp;quot;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;Connor lifts his glass, and takes another drink. &amp;quot;The Kurgan.&amp;quot; Darkness flashes across his eyes, a struggle for a moment, as the Kurgan&amp;#039;s dark quickening struggles to take over. After a brief conflict, it was gone, as was the next Jazz tune that wallows through the air.\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;&amp;quot;There will always be those of us that follow the light, and the darkness. Ah&amp;#039;m glad to hear you are one of us.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
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:&amp;#039;&amp;#039;&amp;#039;{{#var:7988|Amanda Deveraux (7988)}} has posed:&amp;#039;&amp;#039;&amp;#039;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;Amanda lifts her glass as well. She takes a sip, eyelids growing heavy as she savors the liquor with a slow, deep breath. Swallowing, she echoes. &amp;quot;To our mentors.&amp;quot; The woman flashes a smile over in Joe&amp;#039;s direction, then. &amp;quot;A Watcher? He got a rugged attractiveness about him. Like Richard the Lionheart.&amp;quot; A wink follows.\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;Amanda watches the shift in his expressions, remaining quiet until the music once more clears the air.\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;&amp;quot;One of -who-, exactly?&amp;quot; she replies, playfulness returning. &amp;quot;Darling, I have been called many things, but a &amp;#039;follower of the light&amp;#039; is pretty far down on the list.&amp;quot; She shrugs. &amp;quot;Then again, don&amp;#039;t be fooled by all the black, either. This Raven may be a creature of the night, but that doesn&amp;#039;t mean I follow the darkness.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
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:&amp;#039;&amp;#039;&amp;#039;{{#var:8683|Connor Macleod (8683)}} has posed:&amp;#039;&amp;#039;&amp;#039;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;Connor laughs. &amp;quot;Yes, he does. Richard the Lionheart. Now he&amp;#039;s going to be hard to deal with for the next week.&amp;quot; Connor grins as Joe tries to hide his blushing and &amp;quot;swabs&amp;quot; the deck with his rag. &amp;quot;Ah mortals.&amp;quot; Connor shakes his head.\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;&amp;quot;Oh. One of the few who are &amp;quot;good guys&amp;quot; versus the &amp;quot;soldiers&amp;quot; of darkness. I am sure you know what I mean. Those immortals who have let their gifts corrupt themselves.&amp;quot;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;&amp;quot;It is one thing to take care of youself and want what is best for yourself, and those who strive for power. I am happy running an antiiques dealership and wait for the Gathering. As you have your own predilections.&amp;quot; A grin.&lt;br /&gt;
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:&amp;#039;&amp;#039;&amp;#039;{{#var:7988|Amanda Deveraux (7988)}} has posed:&amp;#039;&amp;#039;&amp;#039;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;Amanda smiles knowingly at Joe&amp;#039;s blushing... mission accomplished. &amp;quot;Well if not being a &amp;#039;bad guy&amp;#039; makes me a &amp;#039;good guy&amp;#039;, then I supposed that I&amp;#039;m guilty as charged.&amp;quot; Her smile turns wry, then. &amp;quot;May I call on you as a character witness the next time I&amp;#039;m being questioned by the police?&amp;quot;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;&amp;quot;I am something of a collector, myself.&amp;quot; Amanda adds. &amp;quot;And yes, power has very little interest for me as an end goal. I&amp;#039;m simply trying to stay in the &amp;#039;game&amp;#039; as long as possible.&amp;quot; She swirls her glass, then. &amp;quot;Perhaps I could stop by your antique dealership sometime? I have a few very old bottles of wine, and we could catch up.&amp;quot;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;\&amp;amp;lt;br\&amp;amp;gt;Amanda sips slowly, then adds. &amp;quot;Unless you believe all the stories about me, that is. I really hope you don&amp;#039;t. But it will be fun either way.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;
}}&lt;/div&gt;</summary>
		<author><name>PoeWolf</name></author>
	</entry>
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