Feigned Smiles Shine the Brightest

==Info==
This thread is currently ongoing.
==Starring==
* Karma Mercy Delacour
* Cane Astrada
==Notes==
None
==Feigned Smiles Shine the Brightest==
Karma Delacour
Tobacco smoke curled around the air, choking the oxygen with tar and carcinogens. Karma watched as it danced wistfully until it disappeared, as though the battle between the smoke and the air was over. Though, who was the victor? In their shared transparency, she couldn't see who triumphed over the space, the air or the smoke. Inhaling deeply from her lit cigarette, Karma found herself lost in her thoughts.
She was leaning against the outside wall of the bar where she worked. It was currently her break and it was already half over. Absolutely no part of her wished to go back in through the heavy door to her right. She could hear the cacophony of house music, woo girls, and beer being served. She wanted to vomit, but focused on the smoke swirling in her lungs instead. She wanted to place a needle to her skin and inject wonderful heroin into her veins but she knew she shouldn't. She was recovering. She didn't need to relapse, not again.
Her blue eyes wandered out into the dark blanket that was the night sky. It was littered with an array of twinkling stars that most people saw as white. Anyone that gave a damn would notice they were red, and blue, and every color in between. She let a smile slip across her face, her free hand exploring the empty back pocket of her jean shorts and she brought her cigarette back up to her painted lips, tonight, they were black. As she inhaled, she took notice of the visible constellations. She began to count them, one, two, three. The higher she counted, the fewer minutes she had to escape the madness within the bar.
She both hated and loved this job. It allowed her to busy herself during all hours of the night when before, in France, she would have been higher than the moon with Katelyn. For this, both she and her friends were grateful. Karma had a restless soul, she was constantly needing to do something. This is part of the reason she could always be seen with a cigarette. It gave her hands and her mouth something to do. It also gave her a reason to walk outside for double the amount of time as the rest of the staff. However, on the other hand, she was well aware that half of the patrons were excusing themselves into the bathroom to partake in her own past sins. She watched them, every night, come in calm and slightly excited and watched them transform to restless beings, capable of doing anything. It was a wonderfully awful conundrum.
Karma sighed, finally exhaling a large puff of smoke. She watched it disappear into the stars above her. She looked at the cancer stick, now burnt down to the roach. The edges of the paper still burned bright with orange embers as she flicked it to the ground, stomping it out completely with her heel. She adjusted her white apron and smoothed her auburn hair as she took a deep breath, placing a fake smile on her pleasant face to last her the rest of the work night. Drunkards didn't particularly enjoy sad faces. This she knew, because she was one.
Finally, she placed her cigarettes and lighter into the middle of her bra and her right hand on the handle bar of the back door. Breathing deeply once more, she walked back in. She received cheers as she walked back in, assuming her position behind the bar. She smiled at the regulars and flirted with her blue eyes at the unfamilars. She had learned that a simple flirtatious glance could get a man to spend much more money than he had allotted, which often meant many, many tips for her. Lord knew she needed the money.
For the moment, no one was sitting at the bar and for this, she was thankful. She couldn't abandon her feigned smile, but she could loosen it. Drunkards couldn't see her face clearly when they were far away.
She watched as the house band played, loudly and horribly. However, she knew from experience that with inebriated ears, everything sounded better. Her eyes were cold and emotionless and she ran through the faces, all happy with stupidity. Most of the crowd by the band was nodding their heads idiotically. She noticed a few metal heads in the corner, "head-banging." She had often been told that her dreads would look awesome while "head-banging," but she couldn't understand the point of it for the life of her, not to mention, no one looked awesome while doing that. They just looked stupid and often ended up with a headache.
Bored, Karma placed her chin into her hands as she people watched, waiting for someone to come to the bar and holler at her for a drink. Her smile had faded into a slight grimace as she looked out around the bar, assessing the amount of alcohol left in glasses and the amount of alcohol the patrons had consumed. It was, afterall, part of her job to cut off the ones who were too far gone. She was sure, like every other night she worked, she would be infuriating some poor sap by telling him he was done. It was usually Sven in the corner. He was an attractive man, but divorced with kids and a perpetual drunk. Not exactly dating material. Not to mention, Karma leaned more towards women anyway.
She sighed heavily. It wasn't that she wanted someone to come hassle her for a drink, but she wouldn't mind some social interaction. At least when she was talking to someone, she wasn't lost in her memories, in her thoughts that often made no sense. It was a terrible place to be, her mind.
Cane Astrada
As he walked down the street at his regular, brisk pace, Cane subconsciously began to straighten his cuffs. It was a silly nervous habit he had developed. Of course, that would imply he was nervous. What was there to be nervous about? He had done deals like this dozens of times in the past; it was routine. Still, he didn't stop fiddling until his cuffs were absolutely perfect.
Typically, his clothing looked nothing but perfect. He had on a fitting black cardigan with a spotless white undershirt. Buttons were perfectly in line all the way down to his dark skinny jeans. His shoes were simple and black with tightly tied laces. There was a silver wristwatch strapped to his left hand, keeping perfect time.
The clothing was a lot less formal than what he normally wore to a business meeting, but given his destination for the meeting, he didn't wish to stand out more than necessary. Bars were not a good place to be wearing a suit. He'd seen a fool make that mistake before; the night ended with the poor sap owning one less suit and many more bruises. Cane would have helped him, but meh. He was probably late for something. Probably.
He turned right at a corner, now finally on the street that contained the bar he was aiming for in The Red Light District. The night was inching closer and closer to one in the morning, and the sidewalk was only illuminated by orange lights hanging in front of the open restaurants, bars, and cafes that choked either side of the street. The ground was littered with scraps of paper and and plastic wrappers from miscellaneous items. Cane quickly counted half a dozen beer bottles scattered about. He began to walk a little quicker, if that was at all possible, hands planted firmly within his jean pockets.
"Heeeey good looking! Why don't you come over here and talk to me!" called a woman from the opposite sidewalk who was giggling with a small group of female friends. She was obviously drunk and was soon chastised by one of her more sober friends.
"Huuush Janice! You're drunk of your ass! Besides, can't you tell he's a twink?" The group of friends laughed loudly again and walked on, away from Cane. Cane just shook his head and walked on.
He passed brick buildings choked with ivy and alleyways that he could only peer half way down before they became too dark to see. He heard several barking dogs here and there and more than one car sped by him, leaving behind a gust of air. As he neared the middle of the street, more people walked about and the smell of cigarette smoke grew stronger. He heard rather loud and obnoxious live music coming from within a nearby bar. There was a small sign that hung above the large wooden door that read, "Hemophiliac Bar and Club".
Finally he had arrived at his destination. He pushed past a handful of people crowding the street and grasped the handle of the right handed door. He pulled and the old oaken thing creaked open quickly. The horrible music grew impossibly louder and he stepped in, the door swinging close behind him.
The large room was mostly full and the lighting was dim, except for around the bar. Oddly enough, the bar was also the only place in the room lacking a yelling drunkard or a woman trying to find bedding for the night.
Cane walked across the room, trying his hardest not to touch anyone, and finally procured an empty seat near the center of the bar. He held up his hand to signal the brunette barmaid and said in a voice loud enough to hear over the din, "Water."
He then turned around on the backless chair to view the rest of the room, leaning on the bar itself. Now it was just a waiting game. His client would be able to recognize him by the black strip of cloth he had tied around his left wrist, right above his watch.
His glass of water showed up fast enough and he took a few sips from it. Hopefully the guy would show up soon; Cane had better to do than spend his whole night in a lame bar. It might not be so bad if he had a drink or two, but he never drank alcohol. He didn't like the way it weakened his mind. Just like cigarettes, which he had never tried either. Speaking of which, the thick cloud of smoke in the room was overwhelming; the stench and the feeling in his lungs would kill him before long. He quickly finished off his glass just trying to survive.
As his refill showed up, a young man walked over to him from the left wall. He had previously been hidden by one of the large support beams found around the place that were holding up the room. He was on the short and skinny side, and very ragged. He had greasy black hair that fell grossly down his head, and his face was covered in pimples. His lips, nose, and ears were pierced a few too many times. This guy was not Cane's client.
As he drew near, he said, "I've been looking for a guy like you all night." He was obviously trying to be seductive, but it sounded more like he had phlegm covering his throat. He stood right in front of Cane now, probably a little closer than Cane would have preferred.
"Oh have you know?" he replied, feigning interest with a cute smile. He wanted to see how long he could go without laughing at the absurdity of this guy's aspirations. The thought that some lower class guy in a hoodie could land someone like Cane was nothing short of amusing.
"What do you say that we go have a little fun in the back bathroom," the boy said, leaning in closer to whisper in Cane's right ear.
Just as Cane was about to respond, he noticed, over the shoulder of his pursuer, a woman sitting a few tables away with spiked hair and scarlet red lipstick, staring at him. Could she be the client?
"Hm. Sorry kid," he said, pushing away the sleazeball with his right arm, "thanks for the distraction though. Now get your ugly ass away from me." The boy stumbled back with wide eyes, surprised. He stammered out an apology and ran off somewhere, dripping humiliation.
The woman stood up, revealing a dress that was also scarlet, and walked over to Cane. With delicate movements, she sat down in the seat to the left of him. He turned his body to face her, and in a voice only loud enough for her to hear, he said, "I wasn't expecting a woman."
"I could tell," she responded, her voice breathy.
Karma Delacour
It wasn't long before the horrible music from the band faded into the background of the cacophony Karma's ear were subject to. For a long time, she sat at the bar and allowed both her eyes and her ears to wander across the patrons that were coming and going. She watched apathetically as couples, inebriated enough that sex was finally an option, walked out the door, undressing each other with their eyes. She sighed and wondered if they'd even make it to their car still fully clothed.
It was amazing, the way liquor made lust come out. It was as though once the top from the liquor bottle was discarded, so was the top that held in the animalistic nature within humans and the more timid, supernatural folk, of which, there really weren't many. Even the traditionalists, like herself, were quite socially dominant and bold. Perhaps it was a trait many within the community had acquired merely because deep down, they are knew they were more powerful than the humans. That kind of knowledge does something to a person. It often makes them careless or pretentious. She had seen many of her own kind become both, and had then watched them meet their downfall. She was no where near ready for her own death, therefore, while she knew she was stronger than the humans, she humbled herself by remembering she was no better than them. Was it not she that had succumbed to their drugs? She had no room to believe she was better than them for the simple fact that she was not.
Sighing once again, her apathy coating even her sigh, Karma stood up straight as she removed a hair band from her wrist. It was wrapped around several times so that it would not swing around. The band was thin and large from over usage. It was bought large so that it could actually hold her mop of dread locks, but she often pulled at it while it was on her wrist, allowing it to snap back and cause a small sting of pain when she felt the urge to shoot up. This practice, this nervous tick had caused it to have what she imagined to be the same amount of elasticity of a prostitute's vagina: none. She gathered her locks and pushed them together, pulling the band around them with some struggle, but not much. She could feel her dread locks spreading the band out as they settled into place. It was a loose hold, but it would do. At least this kept it all out of her face.
Still standing straight, Karma placed her hands on her hips, adjusting the location of her apron when a young man, in his mid-twenties or so, approached the bar. Her apathy, still firmly in place, loosened its grip on her emotions as he sat down in front of her. He was extremely attractive, though she wasn't sure she was actually atracted to him. However, soon after he sat down, he ordered a water in the most velvety voice, despite the fact that he was almost shouting over the music, she had ever heard. It nearly melted her. She quickly returned with a water, but left him alone. She was in the business of spectating tonight, and wasn't sure if she wanted to initiate a conversation. However, a young boy from across the room certainly did. She nearly burst out laughing as he came over to the attractive water-drinker, propositioned him, and was so rudely turned away as the attractive man left the bar to sit with a woman in scarlet.
Her attention was quickly stolen as the band's set ended and the rest of the bar patrons swarmed the bar. Orders were being thrown at her left and right and she could hardly keep up, but this was her job and she did it well. Pitchers of beer, martini's, long island iced teas, and even absinthe were thrown across the glossy surface of the beer with quick agility, almost as quickly as they had been ordered. She smiled, the first honest one of the night, as patrons tipped her, bought her shots, and thanked her copiously. Though, it wasn't very hard to please a drunk, especially when you were the one giving them alcohol. She started several tabs as the groups at the bar seemed to get larger and larger. There was a point where a man from every group bought her a shot. She smiled politely, as barmaids do, and took each one dutifully, chasing it with a beer. Of course, it was a trick of the trade to actually spit each shot back into the empty beer bottle as she went. She couldn't be drunk while serving people.
Throughout the chaos, she couldn't help but continue to glance back over at the mysterious man, gorgeous in every definition. She couldn't help but wonder who he was and why he was here. With all of the people at the bar temporarily satisfied, she allowed herself time to find it strange that, at a bar, he had ordered water. He was indeed a strange cookie.
She strained her ears trying to hear the conversation being had with the woman, whom she was now referring to as Mrs. Scarlet in her mind. She couldn't find their voices amongst the drunken shouts of praise pointed at her, pointed at the band that had put their equipment away and were now joining everyone at the bar. Karma accepted the loud adulations with a cute curtsy and a feigned blush. "Little 'ol me? Couldn't be. I'm just not that fantastic." She spoke with a horrid country accent, and at this everyone laughed and praised her more, claiming she was the most entertaining woman they had ever met. She wanted to point out that almost none of them even knew her name, despite their frequency here, but she let the thought die as she saw the man in her peripheral vision once more.
Several times, she almost went over to ask if everything was alright, if he needed another water, if she desired a first drink, but something about the way they were talking dissuaded her. It was almost business-like, the way they were conversing. Instead, she eyed them from a far, trying to read their lips as they spoke, continuing to please the masses with fake accents and smiles.
Cane Astrada
As he walked down the street at his regular, brisk pace, Cane subconsciously began to straighten his cuffs. It was a silly nervous habit he had developed. Of course, that would imply he was nervous. What was there to be nervous about? He had done deals like this dozens of times in the past; it was routine. Still, he didn't stop fiddling until his cuffs were absolutely perfect.
Typically, his clothing looked nothing but perfect. He had on a fitting black cardigan with a spotless white undershirt. Buttons were perfectly in line all the way down to his dark skinny jeans. His shoes were simple and black with tightly tied laces. There was a silver wristwatch strapped to his left hand, keeping perfect time.
The clothing was a lot less formal than what he normally wore to a business meeting, but given his destination for the meeting, he didn't wish to stand out more than necessary. Bars were not a good place to be wearing a suit. He'd seen a fool make that mistake before; the night ended with the poor sap owning one less suit and many more bruises. Cane would have helped him, but meh. He was probably late for something. Probably.
He turned right at a corner, now finally on the street that contained the bar he was aiming for in The Red Light District. The night was inching closer and closer to one in the morning, and the sidewalk was only illuminated by orange lights hanging in front of the open restaurants, bars, and cafes that choked either side of the street. The ground was littered with scraps of paper and and plastic wrappers from miscellaneous items. Cane quickly counted half a dozen beer bottles scattered about. He began to walk a little quicker, if that was at all possible, hands planted firmly within his jean pockets.
"Heeeey good looking! Why don't you come over here and talk to me!" called a woman from the opposite sidewalk who was giggling with a small group of female friends. She was obviously drunk and was soon chastised by one of her more sober friends.
"Huuush Janice! You're drunk of your ass! Besides, can't you tell he's a twink?" The group of friends laughed loudly again and walked on, away from Cane. Cane just shook his head and walked on.
He passed brick buildings choked with ivy and alleyways that he could only peer half way down before they became too dark to see. He heard several barking dogs here and there and more than one car sped by him, leaving behind a gust of air. As he neared the middle of the street, more people walked about and the smell of cigarette smoke grew stronger. He heard rather loud and obnoxious live music coming from within a nearby bar. There was a small sign that hung above the large wooden door that read, "Hemophiliac Bar and Club".
Finally he had arrived at his destination. He pushed past a handful of people crowding the street and grasped the handle of the right handed door. He pulled and the old oaken thing creaked open quickly. The horrible music grew impossibly louder and he stepped in, the door swinging close behind him.
The large room was mostly full and the lighting was dim, except for around the bar. Oddly enough, the bar was also the only place in the room lacking a yelling drunkard or a woman trying to find bedding for the night.
Cane walked across the room, trying his hardest not to touch anyone, and finally procured an empty seat near the center of the bar. He held up his hand to signal the brunette barmaid and said in a voice loud enough to hear over the din, "Water."
He then turned around on the backless chair to view the rest of the room, leaning on the bar itself. Now it was just a waiting game. His client would be able to recognize him by the black strip of cloth he had tied around his left wrist, right above his watch.
His glass of water showed up fast enough and he took a few sips from it. Hopefully the guy would show up soon; Cane had better to do than spend his whole night in a lame bar. It might not be so bad if he had a drink or two, but he never drank alcohol. He didn't like the way it weakened his mind. Just like cigarettes, which he had never tried either. Speaking of which, the thick cloud of smoke in the room was overwhelming; the stench and the feeling in his lungs would kill him before long. He quickly finished off his glass just trying to survive.
As his refill showed up, a young man walked over to him from the left wall. He had previously been hidden by one of the large support beams found around the place that were holding up the room. He was on the short and skinny side, and very ragged. He had greasy black hair that fell grossly down his head, and his face was covered in pimples. His lips, nose, and ears were pierced a few too many times. This guy was not Cane's client.
As he drew near, he said, "I've been looking for a guy like you all night." He was obviously trying to be seductive, but it sounded more like he had phlegm covering his throat. He stood right in front of Cane now, probably a little closer than Cane would have preferred.
"Oh have you know?" he replied, feigning interest with a cute smile. He wanted to see how long he could go without laughing at the absurdity of this guy's aspirations. The thought that some lower class guy in a hoodie could land someone like Cane was nothing short of amusing.
"What do you say that we go have a little fun in the back bathroom," the boy said, leaning in closer to whisper in Cane's right ear.
Just as Cane was about to respond, he noticed, over the shoulder of his pursuer, a woman sitting a few tables away with spiked hair and scarlet red lipstick, staring at him. Could she be the client?
"Hm. Sorry kid," he said, pushing away the sleazeball with his right arm, "thanks for the distraction though. Now get your ugly ass away from me." The boy stumbled back with wide eyes, surprised. He stammered out an apology and ran off somewhere, dripping humiliation.
The woman stood up, revealing a dress that was also scarlet, and walked over to Cane. With delicate movements, she sat down in the seat to the left of him. He turned his body to face her, and in a voice only loud enough for her to hear, he said, "I wasn't expecting a woman."
"I could tell," she responded, her voice breathy.
Karma Delacour
It wasn't long before the horrible music from the band faded into the background of the cacophony Karma's ear were subject to. For a long time, she sat at the bar and allowed both her eyes and her ears to wander across the patrons that were coming and going. She watched apathetically as couples, inebriated enough that sex was finally an option, walked out the door, undressing each other with their eyes. She sighed and wondered if they'd even make it to their car still fully clothed.
It was amazing, the way liquor made lust come out. It was as though once the top from the liquor bottle was discarded, so was the top that held in the animalistic nature within humans and the more timid, supernatural folk, of which, there really weren't many. Even the traditionalists, like herself, were quite socially dominant and bold. Perhaps it was a trait many within the community had acquired merely because deep down, they are knew they were more powerful than the humans. That kind of knowledge does something to a person. It often makes them careless or pretentious. She had seen many of her own kind become both, and had then watched them meet their downfall. She was no where near ready for her own death, therefore, while she knew she was stronger than the humans, she humbled herself by remembering she was no better than them. Was it not she that had succumbed to their drugs? She had no room to believe she was better than them for the simple fact that she was not.
Sighing once again, her apathy coating even her sigh, Karma stood up straight as she removed a hair band from her wrist. It was wrapped around several times so that it would not swing around. The band was thin and large from over usage. It was bought large so that it could actually hold her mop of dread locks, but she often pulled at it while it was on her wrist, allowing it to snap back and cause a small sting of pain when she felt the urge to shoot up. This practice, this nervous tick had caused it to have what she imagined to be the same amount of elasticity of a prostitute's vagina: none. She gathered her locks and pushed them together, pulling the band around them with some struggle, but not much. She could feel her dread locks spreading the band out as they settled into place. It was a loose hold, but it would do. At least this kept it all out of her face.
Still standing straight, Karma placed her hands on her hips, adjusting the location of her apron when a young man, in his mid-twenties or so, approached the bar. Her apathy, still firmly in place, loosened its grip on her emotions as he sat down in front of her. He was extremely attractive, though she wasn't sure she was actually atracted to him. However, soon after he sat down, he ordered a water in the most velvety voice, despite the fact that he was almost shouting over the music, she had ever heard. It nearly melted her. She quickly returned with a water, but left him alone. She was in the business of spectating tonight, and wasn't sure if she wanted to initiate a conversation. However, a young boy from across the room certainly did. She nearly burst out laughing as he came over to the attractive water-drinker, propositioned him, and was so rudely turned away as the attractive man left the bar to sit with a woman in scarlet.
Her attention was quickly stolen as the band's set ended and the rest of the bar patrons swarmed the bar. Orders were being thrown at her left and right and she could hardly keep up, but this was her job and she did it well. Pitchers of beer, martini's, long island iced teas, and even absinthe were thrown across the glossy surface of the beer with quick agility, almost as quickly as they had been ordered. She smiled, the first honest one of the night, as patrons tipped her, bought her shots, and thanked her copiously. Though, it wasn't very hard to please a drunk, especially when you were the one giving them alcohol. She started several tabs as the groups at the bar seemed to get larger and larger. There was a point where a man from every group bought her a shot. She smiled politely, as barmaids do, and took each one dutifully, chasing it with a beer. Of course, it was a trick of the trade to actually spit each shot back into the empty beer bottle as she went. She couldn't be drunk while serving people.
Throughout the chaos, she couldn't help but continue to glance back over at the mysterious man, gorgeous in every definition. She couldn't help but wonder who he was and why he was here. With all of the people at the bar temporarily satisfied, she allowed herself time to find it strange that, at a bar, he had ordered water. He was indeed a strange cookie.
She strained her ears trying to hear the conversation being had with the woman, whom she was now referring to as Mrs. Scarlet in her mind. She couldn't find their voices amongst the drunken shouts of praise pointed at her, pointed at the band that had put their equipment away and were now joining everyone at the bar. Karma accepted the loud adulations with a cute curtsy and a feigned blush. "Little 'ol me? Couldn't be. I'm just not that fantastic." She spoke with a horrid country accent, and at this everyone laughed and praised her more, claiming she was the most entertaining woman they had ever met. She wanted to point out that almost none of them even knew her name, despite their frequency here, but she let the thought die as she saw the man in her peripheral vision once more.
Several times, she almost went over to ask if everything was alright, if he needed another water, if she desired a first drink, but something about the way they were talking dissuaded her. It was almost business-like, the way they were conversing. Instead, she eyed them from a far, trying to read their lips as they spoke, continuing to please the masses with fake accents and smiles.
Cane Astrada
The woman had wisely pulled Cane away from the bar, back to the table she had been sitting at. Within seconds, the whole room seemed to rush to the once empty bar, each person loudly ordering drinks from the woman in charge. He had left his glass of iced water there, luckily he hadn't a need for it anymore. He was now to intently focused on this scarlet woman to worry about anything else.
When they first sat, she glanced around the room a few times, making sure there weren't any eavesdroppers. While he waited, Cane decided she reminded him of Lisa Rinna, but with better lips. Finally, once she felt like they were speaking in private, she spoke.
"Call me Madam; I already know your name. We have something very serious to discuss."
Cane had already adopted that feeling from the letter he had received in the mail a month prior.
To Mister Cane Astrada,
I hope this letter reaches you in good health. I'm sending this to you in the hopes that you will be able to help me with the . . . complications that seem to be arising. I shall not disclose my name, but I will inform you of my race. I am a shifter of little renown but intense importance. Much like you, I have a vast network of informants, although my operatives work in much shadier corners. They have recently brought to my attention a scheme devised by a few key individuals to carry out a task most . . . unpleasant. I have reason to believe you may be involved willing or not in these events.
Meet me at The Hemophiliac Bar and Club in exactly thirty days at One A.M. so we may discuss further details.
You will identify me by the red I where,
with severe urgency,
sincerely yours''
Needless to say, Cane had heeded the instructions of the letter. Something about the formal red wax seal on the envelop and the ancient parchment it was hand-written on convinced him of its authenticity.
"Before we start, just out of curiosity, why meet here? Of all places," the location of this conference still concerned Cane a great deal.
She calmly answered, "Neither my enemies or yours would ever suspect that we would be present here, of all places. In this loud bar, we are safe from any of our opposition's spies."
"Genius," he muttered. Then, in a serious tone, "You are obviously convinced some form of opposition does exist, so please, share your story."
Madam breathed out heavily through her nose, then leaned back and closed her eyes. She took her time properly ordering her thoughts, not wanting to leave out any detail.
Finally she leaned back towards Cane, and began her story,
"We're wanted dead. You, me, anyone who has anything to do with information, " she enunciated each syllable of that word carefully. "The people after us don't want the risk of being discovered before their plans come to fruition. In their eyes, we are the biggest threat."
Cane stared at her quizzically, his face showing obvious confusion, concern, and frustration over Madam's continued ambiguity.
"Who are - " he began to ask.
 "They," she cut him off, "are The Godlings. An underground group of rebels who think they can overthrow just about everything. They're fanatics and they idolize their leader as their new god. They want us gone."
Cane stared in disbelief. A fanatic rebel group? What was the world coming to? He had so many questions and asked Madam all of them. He hated not knowing each and every detail of things he was concerned with.
He learned that the group was new, having formed less than a year ago. Although they only numbered in the hundreds, each member was dedicated and determined. The Godlings were willing to do anything to achieve their cause, which was to reveal the paranormal world and lead the world after that revelation.
"Have they already begun to take action?" He asked, suddenly urgent. Madam did not respond, obviously hesitant to share some specifics.
"Is that why some of my informants have been disappearing?" Things began to fall into place. True fear for his own safety began to play across his tragically beautiful face.
Madam simply began to nod her head in affirmation. This threat had already begun to prove it was serious. If their following grew much larger, everyone would have a very valid reason to worry.
Then, the big questions struck Cane's mind.
"What do we do to stop them? Who else knows? Have the authorities been brought into this?"
Madam solemnly shook her head, "Those are the questions that I can't answer, sadly."
Cane stared in what was now horror.
~
It was hours before the two were done talking. They didn't once stop to look up or get a drink. Once each aspect had been ironed out in Cane's mind, all he could do was sit back in disbelief. After a while, Madam picked back up the withering conversation.
"That barmaid over there is pretty good at her job," she said, nodding her head towards the brunette behind the counter.
"Yeah, I guess she is. She handled the crowd pretty well."
It had been some time since most patrons had left, and once again the bar was empty. Cane wondered why Madam had chosen to bring her up now. She didn't seem to be of any importance. Nor was she that attractive. Maybe Cane just wasn't into dreads . . . or women.
"She's been watching us the entire night," Madam continued, an edge to her voice, "She's a witch."
Cane quickly looked at Madam and tilted his head, almost as if to say "Really?".
Without confirmation from the other, they both stood up and quickly approached the bar. Cane spread his hands on the counter and looked pointedly at the young woman who was down to the right. Madam stood a few feet away, directly in front of the girl, there was nowhere to run.
Simultaneously, the pair asked,
"How much did you hear?"
This type of information could not be leaked to anyone, and sometimes blood had to be spilled for secrets to be kept. It wouldn't be the first or last time. Cane's whole life was built around regulating the exchange of secrets, and this one of any of them needed to be concealed.
He was confident that everything would work out fine, his Gifted abilities made sure the Witch couldn't do anything. His crippling aura hung in the air like a funeral shroud.