2577/2 Russians, 1 Bar

2 Russians, 1 Bar
Date of Scene:	24 September 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Akula, Feral

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Akula has posed:
It was a long swim, but it was worth it.

Akula came bearing the equivalent of a rooftop camper shell, carrying things she'd squirrelled away for well over fourty years in a waterproof container she hauled all the way across the Atlantic. Bartering with the right people in Mutant Town got her immediate cash, which allowed her to do what every good sailor does on shoreleave:

DRINK.

Feral has posed:
    Mutant Town could easily be New York's most exotic ghetto; home to psychics, shapeshifters, were-people, speedsters, elementalists, and countless other stripes of natural and man-made beings who one way or another just don't quite fit in with modern human society. Many are outcasts and ostracized, some seek out others 'like them' with superhuman traits and abilities, some are native-born, some are immigrants, men in dark coats, women with flaming hair, and some... are just a little too wild to blend in anywhere sapient.
    
    Pushing open the door to Luke's Bar naked as the day she was born, Vanya strides inside and pauses only for a moment before heading towards the bar. Covered from head to toe in stark stripes of orange and black, the weretiger smells strongly - and oddly - of saltwater and her fur is the matted sort of dry that comes from getting a slow air-dry without the grace of a brush. At least she's not showing anything; buried in two-tone hair and a front of white, the beginnings of the were-woman's winter coat are hanging thick and low over anything too recognizable.
    
    "Ahh, finally!" she cries in bliss, slapping the table. "This is the longest trip I've had for beer ever." <What do you want for a starter?> the tiger asks over her shoulder, back to her native tongue.

Akula has posed:
<"I think I'll try to see if I can stomach what these Americanskis call vodka. See if they've gotten any better in three decades,"> Akula laughs. She's actually wearing clothes, someone call the newspapers - and they're her old Soviet naval uniform. Striped shirt, long pants, black boots.

Feral has posed:
<The beer is worth a drink,> Vanya replies casually and orders a round of each as she drops her scaled butt onto a stool and lets her sharply-curved tail dangle behind it. The smaller shark smiles toothily. <I guess the Navy would like drinking flavorless liquor-water more.>

Akula has posed:
<"Fine then, after the vodka, beer,"> Akula suggests, clapping her hand on Vanya's shoulder in a friendly manner.

Feral has posed:
The hand thumps against solid muscle and Vanya gives back a friendly jab to the soldier's ribs. <"Drink what you want, vata. I've just never found as much joy in hard liquor.">

<"Of course the best beer is the kind you win from a bar bet but the last time I tried to start that in this town I got thrown out the door by a psychic,"> the tiger shark cracks, looking around the room at the other patrons.

Akula has posed:
<"Last time I was here, I was watching Juggernaut rigging fights,"> Akula notes, amused, getting a bottle of flavored vodka. Hey, who said it just had to be tasteless drunk water? This one is strawberry flavored. She takes a sip. <"... Not bad. More fruit than bite. Acceptable,"> she appraises.

Feral has posed:
Vanya's own drink comes in a glass thankyouverymuch and as if to spite the naval shark's light-toned drink hers is a dark mahogany-colored ale. The feral shapeshifter takes her first drink with relish and sighs cheerfully, her tail whipping a dangerous arc behind her.

Akula has posed:
<"So what do you make of it all, Vanya? Of what's become of the motherland?"> Akula asks, downing the bottle in her hand. It's practically a shot glass for someone her size.

Feral has posed:
Vanya pauses with drink in hand and swirls the beer under her nose. Her tail droops a little closer to the floor. <"Well, it's gone,"> she admits frankly. <"Your home turned into Slavic New York, mine doesn't even exist anymore, and what used to be a grand empire is a fractured mess of states and loose veterans.">

<"But so what?"> the werewoman continues, clanking her beer on the counter. <"We're still the best things that country produced and we're still around - and so is that commander of yours. We've got alcohol, we've got a soviet, and one of them I can even sink my teeth into,"> she adds with a pointy grin and glance. <"What more do I need?">

Akula has posed:
Akula laughs. <"It's a good start, at least. But for me?"> Her smile fades a bit and she sighs wistfully. <"I need something more to my life. I've fought for something my entire life. I can't simply stop fighting. I can't -not- be a soldier."> She taps the bar and asks the bartender for something stronger, and in a larger bottle.

Feral has posed:
Vanya shakes her head. <"I don't understand that about you,"> she admits bluntly. <"What, your life's not completely unless someone's ordering you around? You've got that commander of yours still.">

Akula has posed:
    <"I was my own commander. I had comrades under me,"> Akula explains. <"It is the lack of war, the lack of fighting... that is what dulls my future. No more enemy soldiers, no more gunfire, no more submarines to sink."> She sighs heavily as she's handed some everclear. <"-That- is what I miss.">

Feral has posed:
    The smaller shark sips from her beer as she listens and raises her brow before putting it back down. <"I didn't read about any wars with submarines. Did we fight the US in the water somewhere?">

Akula has posed:
    <"Do you think that everything that happened in the cold war was reported on"?> Akula asks with a smirk, twisting the top off the bottle and drinking it straight.

Feral has posed:
    <"Fair,"> the feral Soviet chuckles as she helps herself to a tray of bar peanuts. <"If all you want is fighting I can help with that - though good fights are still hard to come by.">
    <"Present company excluded,"> Vanya adds with a glance and a very sharp-toothed smirk.

Akula has posed:
<"If only there was a cause worth fighting for again,"> Akula says wistfully. <"Though I will say that fighting you is still a joy! I just... do not want to harm you. I do not want to go berserk and find you dead when I awake from the rage."> There's just a bit of emotion in her voice as she says it.

Feral has posed:
Vanya turns from Akula and tips her mug up until the glass is dry. A small sigh follows as she taps the counter for another while studying the distorted image through its thick surface. <"You and me both,"> she agrees in a more muted tone. <"You're the first loss that's stuck in my side - bet your life I'll make it up to you later.">

Some of the predator's gamely grin returns as she looks back up to Akula. <"I might just slaughter my way through the underworld, grab the death god by the balls, and have him walk me out the exit if you did. There'd be no satisfaction in that at all.">

Akula has posed:
<"I could see you doing that. If the god of war is a mere man, death is hardly a god at all. What keeps anyone from simply marching back out to life, other than a destroyed body?"> Akula questions, drinking another gulp of straight grain alcohol.

Feral has posed:
<"I might have to threaten him to get this one back. I'm fond of it,"> Vanya considers, then hikes a thumb to the tattoo still plainly visible across her sandpaper face. <"Heck maybe with this mark Ares would put in a good word for me.">

Akula has posed:
    <"I wonder how the god of death is at [censored],"> Akula asks, finishing off the bottle. Yeah, only she would ask something like that. <"I'd almost forgotten how much fun that was after three decades. I'm surprised things didn't just dry up and fall out while I was swimming one day!">

Feral has posed:
    <"That might be why everything's on the inside,"> Vanya cracks. <"Balls on the outside where everyone can get them wasn't much of a step forward... though it is nice to have a panic button in a fight,"> the werewoman chuckles as her next mug arrives and gets its fine layer of foam sipped off.
    <"I said you can have Ares and you can have Death too. If War always smells like blood, metal, and sweat, I don't want to share a room with that one. You'd stink like a rotting whale.">

Akula has posed:
    
<"You act like my senses aren't as sharp as yours,"> Akula snorts. <"What other options are there? I suppose I hadn't thought about the smell,"> she concedes. <"Or maybe I just found the wrong war god. There's probably more than one.">

Feral has posed:
<"If you find a God of Beasts I call dibs,"> Vanya interjects before taking a proper drink from her second glass.

Akula has posed:
<"Now why do you get to call dibs?"> Akula grins, challenging.

Feral has posed:
Vanya glances up, still drinking, while her fingertips darken and thicken, their small nails growing larger and stronger. Wiping a small mustache of foam from her lips, the werewoman shows them clearly to her fellow Soviet. <"Because my claws are larger,"> she smirks back.