2nd of Spring, 517 AV
Hurik let a hiss seep from his mouth unbidden, and he clenched his fist. He reached at his hip for... what? He was a petching ghost! Still, he supposed that he had one weapon at his disposal; The mists. He willed them to curl off of his form as menacingly as he could manage. That meant producing long tendrils of the stuff rolling off of his fingers and fizzling audibly into the air, resembling fire. He moved to force himself between Madeira and the Myrian, and gestured back to the table.
"I'll join you. My partner is going to stay here and keep an eye on the others patrons." Hurik followed the Myrian back to their table, and held a warding hand out to Madeira, indicating to her to stay put at the bar, which he'd deemed a neutral space. Hurik sat down across from the two Myrians and clasped his hands. I hope I know what I'm doing. He met the Myrian's gaze, the one who had invited him over and stared her right back in the eye. He didn't flinch, wince, or cringe, and he growled.
"Where's my body?"
Hurik put out a dominating posture, tried to divert soulmist to his arms, and face, and generally emphasize his strength. He also figured he was trying to impress Madeira, but pushed her to the back of his mind for the moment. As dangerous a situation as this was, he was determined to get something out of it. If this went poorly, Hurik decided, he'd bring Madeira home immediately. He probably should have done it the moment he found that he hadn't any sense of familiarity about Ionu's Wager, but barring that, he supposed they'd have to find another lead.
I'd best make this all-or-nothing, Hurik thought. Flexing his soulmist, Hurik let his mists gather around his head, lending deep shadows to his face in the already dark room. He willed his eyes to change colour to a solid black, hoping the simplicity of that would prove successful. He couldn't feel the change, but he hoped to find that it had worked by gauging the reactions of the Myrians.
"You'd better not give me any shyke either, or else let's just say..." Hurik leaned in close, a snarl fierce on his face. "If I can't recover my own body, I'll go looking for another." A sudden, powerful urge to kill these two surged in Hurik, and he lunged forward teeth bared. A shrieking, piercing noise split the air. Hurik backed off, but maintained a level gaze with the Myrian, hands resting calmly on the table.
Hurik's eyes flicked to the table, then he returned to staring them down. Gods. He'd rent long thin scratches through the veneer and the grain of the table, by complete accident using soulmist. He felt a pang of irritation, remembering his utter failure at knocking on a door. Somehow he knew that if he tried to do something of that nature intentionally, he'd fail. He also was forced to withdraw his tendrils to a length that made them merely dance across his skin. It seemed that intentional or not, he'd expended soulmist to perform that parlor trick. Everything rested on how these filthy cannibals reacted to his threat, on whether or not they actually knew anything.
Boxcode credit: Roselina.