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</div></div><br/><span style="font-size: 12px">"<i>Fast, slow..</i>. Whatever gets me off at the time." She quipped under her breath as she watched the human's progress. <br/>
<br/>
No need to distract from the main event.<br/>
<br/>
And splinter the chair did, to pieces and bits, forming a disheveled and ugly collection of broken wood on the floor. Chance raised a hand in an indication of waiting, allowing seconds to pass that felt as long as minutes. Whether Brock chose to drop the remaining frame of the chair did not matter; the process would work the same. Above them, the lighting dimmed, strobing, as a warm rush of air blew itself through the main room of the tavern. As though the establishment itself were drawing breath, it seemed to heave the walls around the patrons, careful as a caretaker with a swaddling babe, but unmistakeably alive. <br/>
<br/>
The fractured pieces began creeping toward one another, finding each nook and groove they originally inhabited before Brock's demonstration. It was quiet work, systematically recreating the sections of chair legs and arms and body until a seamless reconstruction of the previous seat was finished. Chance might've clapped if she hadn't seen the entirety of the bar patch itself after however many fights and arguments had spawned through the years. She had thought it difficult to explain fully, but the chair trick always did the job she couldn't. The smile returned to her lips as she asked Brock, "Did that help?"<br/>
<br/>
That warm breath of life from earlier released, allowing the lights to return to their usual dim luminance. Putting out her cigarette, Chance rose from her seat and sauntered around the bar counter, gingerly sipping the Roman Holiday Colin had made for her. "Thank you," she commented before squeezing past all the parties currently making drinks to rummage near an antique register. Under a stack of papers and a snowglobe paperweight, she collected a wooden depository and walked it over to where Colin could reach it. Lucky for all the potential overnighters, it was unlocked. "Since Errol never showed tonight, I guess I can explain how the rooms work. You take a key and read the number. That's the room you're staying it. Your stay is... well, as long as you like, I imagine. I've had my room for... three decades? <i>Give or take.</i>"<br/>
<br/>
Finally given a moment to acclimate, Chance's eyes fell on the fair skinned male figure with the questions regarding the runes. He looked out of his element, though not because he had remarked aloud over the inhumanity of the current congregation. It was in his mannerisms and the softness of his tone. Lashes batting as she considered her response, the woman leaned against the counter and took a slow drink of her liquor. "I used to believe they were of Qareen or Abaasy, but an Abaasy once found his way into the bar and had no idea how to read them. Good luck asking a Qareen for a straight answer." Glancing over her shoulder, she studied a patch of intricate symbols, her expression thoughtful. <br/>
<br/>
"I can't say I have many stories of the runes. Of the bar itself, yes. Mostly in the way it handles acts of violence towards its interior or its patrons. I discovered quickly to take my conflicts outside if only to save myself the embarrassment of being launched through the roof."</span><br/><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="2986" data-username="@GMO" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/2986/">@GMO</a><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="1702" data-username="@BoundObsession" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/1702/">@BoundObsession</a><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="3031" data-username="@One Wing" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/3031/">@One Wing</a>