Dante sat down amicably at the table he'd chosen--far from the lascivious activity that that was taking place around and on an old, out of tune piano. The man had held the woman's thighs splayed wide; thrusting vigorously into the woman's cavernous depths. Even without lifting his eyes from the pages of the priceless book he'd found long ago, he could tell how 'loose' the woman was simply by the ease of insertion after insertion. What followed was moaning, groaning and clawing at the man's back in an almost feral attempt at getting him to faster and be done with it. The dark-clad stranger, The Man In Black as he were, still tried to mind his own damn business flipping through the pages of a tome long thought lost to mankind.<br/><br/>The room was musty; it smelled of sweat, sex, and bodily fluids. It was also hot. It was cooler than the outside, but the heat lingered in the air as though a suffocating smog. There were no fans blowing creating drafts of cool air that could ebb and flow over the lot of them--and definitely no air conditioners. This would never do. How could he sit in solace and read his favorite book with sweat dripping down his high, angular face with narrow bronzed cheeks?  He was a startlingly handsome man despite his rugged looks; coarse black hair followed his jawline yet there was only stubble to be found on his cheeks. Yet, around his mouth a groomed dark goatee. Despite his ominous appearance; dressed all in black for a funeral of sorts, he carried himself with suave dignity.<br/><br/>He didn't act like any prospector or bounty hunter or brigand. He acted strangely friendly, save for the annoyance of the two causing the piano to clang and clink. Others enjoyed the spectacle, he was silently appalled, mortified--was this a regular occurrence? Had people truly forgotten human dignity, pride, and shame? Did they have no decency? Or respect for the act of uniting with another being in the enrapturing bliss of the moment? This debauchery was an affront to his belief; women giving their purity away for a few colds or gold nuggets--perhaps even precious stones that could be sold for a hefty sum.<br/><br/>That was when trouble came waltzing into his field of view; a five-foot-seven, one hundred and ten-pound lithe frame with green eyes like glittering emeralds and dark coppery red hair. He couldn't help but look up and watch her move with a bounce in her step as she neared the bar counter where 'Mac' was pouring Dante a glass of Method and Madness Single Pot Still. Method and Madness was once an innovative new brand from an Irish whiskey giant in the world of whiskey. It is reminiscent of an old-school Irish whiskey – reassuringly smooth, sweet and soft – but with a twist: it has been matured in chestnut casks (as well as bourbon and sherry ones). The result was a wonderfully spicy and sweet dram with lots of woody notes. Mac had poured the sweet smelling amber liquid waterfall from the bottle into a crystalline glass with a diamond pattern in a band around the middle of the glass.<br/><br/><span style="font-size: 18px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#9999ff"><div class="bbm_float fright" style="float:right;margin:0 0 5px 10px">
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</div></span></span><span style="font-size: 15px"><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#cc99ff">“Hey, Mac, why don’t you pour me something to make the hair on my arms crawl?”</span> The barkeep chuckled, smiling shyly. He knew he could never have THAT. She was the pride and joy of the establishment. Everyone wanted her time the most; it was either her or Heather Williams the dark-haired, glacial blue-eyed beauty with speckled cheeks of freckles. The bartender dropped a couple of ice cold cubes and sat it down the tray along with the drink Erol had begged for just moments prior.</i><br/>
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<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#cc99ff">"You should go say hello to the new guy, been sitting that book or whatever, running his hand over it like he's looking for something,"</span> Mac said before getting back to cleaning the dishes.</i><br/>
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<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#cc99ff">“Heya, stranger,” </span>The coppery haired, lithe woman spoke up, setting his glass down in front of the Dante.</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>The book would be unlike any she's seen before, and there were few left. Many books were used as kindling after the collapse of humanity and it had to do without its creature comforts. The pages appeared blank at first glance, but closer inspection revealed a series of raised 'bumps'. Row after row of them littered the old pages. She wouldn't know it was long, forgotten language to teach the blind how to spell and read.  He noticed the young maiden watching him read so he spoke the words aloud in a dignified manner.</i><br/>
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<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff">"Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame. Many waters cannot quench love; neither can the floods drown it: if a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be contemned."</span> Dante turned and lifted his shorn head. It bristled like a freshly sheared lamb of its wool. His eyes met hers. They were somber, sobering even. Of all the vile men in here, she would know, as if by pure instinct, he'd fought more impressive things than a man with a gun.  If she were to look around, she wouldn't find a man in the building that could give off the same sense of dread.</i><br/>
<br/>
<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff">"It's a good verse; about love, you know. About a young woman's love no less."</span> He told Erol, folding the book closed and setting the book down on the table before taking the glass and softly sloshing the whiskey. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff">"Please, have a seat--I’d hate to keep a beautiful woman standing on her feet over me." </span></i></span><span style="font-size: 15px">Dante rose from his seat, offering her a chance to sit next to him on the inside of the booth.</span><br/><span style="font-size: 15px"><br/>
<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#cc99ff">“Looks like you just came in from someplace interesting.”</span> Erol inferred, watching him take a swig of his sweating beverage.</i><br/>
<br/>
<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff">"Ah,"</span> He said after sloshing the whiskey and swallowing, feeling the burn.</i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff"> <i>"Do I? And here I would have figured I'd blend in with the regulars--guess I'll have to come up with a better disguise, eh?"</i></span><i> Erol giggled. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#cc99ff">"You'll have to do something, that's for sure."</span></i><br/>
<br/>
<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#cc99ff">"I'm Erol,"</span></i> she said to him with a pearly smile, looping an arm around his. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#cc99ff">" You got a name?"</span> She inquired. <br/>
<br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff"><i>"Erol,"</i></span> He muttered softly to himself eyes glazing as he pondered.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff"> <i>"It's definitely a pretty name. But, I think Anastasia suits you much better. Or perhaps, Isolde."</i></span> He reached up with one rough textured hand and slid her hair neatly behind her ear. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff"><i>"There, I admire your hair, but your face is too pretty to hide."</i><br/>
</span></span><br/><span style="font-size: 15px"><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff">"As for my name, it's Dante. Dante Alighieri."</span></i> He said to her with a kind smile.</span><br/><span style="font-size: 15px"><br/>
<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff">"I kindly thank you for your service."</span> He then told her before downing the shot down in one gulp. The 4" tall glass had been filled to the brim. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff">"If you'll excuse me momentarily, a shepherd must tend his flock."</span> He told Erol, taking one of her petite, pale hands and kissing the knuckles, before placing the book. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4da6ff">"Hold on to this for me, things might get rough, I'd rather not lose it--though I have it memorized."</span></i></span><br/><span style="font-size: 18px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(153, 153, 255)"><div class="bbm_float fright" style="float:right;margin:0 0 5px 10px">
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</div></span></span><i><span style="font-size: 15px">He then slid out from the booth, and as he stood at the tableside, he unbuckled his long black mantle letting it slide down his shoulders. Exposing the sleeveless vest that contained three pairs of handguns of various calibers, one on each side of his chest; a stockless shotgun with a foregrip on the pump-action to make loading and firing much more fluid and easy, was strapped to his back. Coiled around his waist were numerous pouches and ammo clip holders. But, the most striking thing about the man was his arms covered in strange, foreign markings. They were not magic, magic relied on difficult incantation. But these circular marks were crackling with raw energies, that was visible to the naked eye.<br/>
<br/>
Whatever it was, it was dangerously powerful. She could 'feel' it, the energy that surrounded him was so unlike magic she wouldn't be able to fathom it. It wasn't vastly more powerful, it was more like she could feel what the 'other side' could do. Sorcerers feared mean of science like Dante. Their abilities were perfectly suited for fighting users of magic. But, the arsenal he carried--let alone the 50lb weighted coat he wore so casually--had to have put a strain on him...right? Dante had neatly folded the heavy coat of buckles and black hide with a suede finish that was just a bit tarnished from his years of venturing to cities deemed too dangerous to go. <br/>
<br/>
Laying it down on the bench before turning and walk towards the couple making the commotion, stopping only to pay his tab--and any collateral damage which came in the form of precious gems that sparkled brilliantly. He then sauntered nonchalantly towards the ruckus.  His boots thudded off the salvaged oaken planks<br/>
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WIP<br/>
Tell me what you think so far! :D</span></i>