(Thank you to all players: Terminal Grace, Celestial Gloom, Jack Scott, & Taneth Mercer. This story started back last summer so the beginning posts are from that time.)
The stars were sleeping, as far as this side of the world was concerned. By the light of this system's central one, however, Kabe traveled the streams and found his way here. One single ray of light cut through the overcast and widened its beam across the steps of the establishment's porch.
The atmosphere grew heavy and then dark as a swirl of black, speckled feathers suddenly rose up from the earth like a cyclone. The star-eyed man rose up within the hurricane and gathered the feathers close to his skin. He had been practicing new tricks, old and forgotten glamours. From his own wings he formed and folded himself a suit of charcoal gray, and a white linen shirt. When the tornado of feathers subsided, there he stood, straightening his collar and regarding this place with a self-satisfied smirk.
Old, forgotten bloodstains and the broken promises littering the place opened its doors to Kasdeja. From what was once red, black, green, blue or golden blood soaked into the boards and reduced to nothing but brown through the machinations of Time, motes and sparks and gold dust coalesced. They gathered, slow and sure and dazzling enough until they swirled and lit and the room was lit as if by its own miniature sun. When it subsided, the great golden wings spread and folded over their bearer, vanishing into the battered, fitted denim and half-bothered to button shirt in black. The hair flowing straight down past his hips seemed to match the seriousness written across his face rather well, and his arms folded. "This is the place." Always questions without questioning.
While the other winged being was forming himself in the common room, the man in the suit with the voids filled with stars for eyes walked up the steps with a sedate surety and shoved open the double doors to make his grand entrance.
He stepped over the threshold, looking left and right, and continued on without pause to allow the doors to swing shut in his wake. He breathed deep those old but not forgotten scents, and sighed out. "Aaaaah." Then he said, "This is the place." His words, though an echo, were a confirmation and not a question at all.
Only the turn of his head suggested his eyes moved to look at anything at all. There were no pupils nor sclera, only a never-ending vastness of dark, and the whole of the universe contained within. Little specks of a miniaturized infinity that twinkled as stars and planetary bodies do. He nodded to Kas and then regarded a woman with a never-ending sort of amusement stuck to his mouth.
"Filthy," he remarked, to which of them we could not say. But he stepped around a table, dragging his fingers across the grime before rubbing them together when he lifted his hand. "Just as I remember it."
A stark enough contrast, the man whose eyes shone like gold, and the glamour enough to keep them looking nearly normal. Nearly. The faint trace of gold dust followed every move of those eyes, and the distinct lack of anything resembling a smile. "Something about this place charms you, of course." Long steps carry him closer to the bar. "Gloriam Dei, et devoret te, respice ad Grigory."
The amusement most assuredly had stuck, and echoed louder in his chuckle that had an almost devious quality of sound. His head tipped as he moved, as if to regard the woman who was muttering to herself in Latin. "Veteris linguae. Verba veteris. Vetera." One star, that one right there, Megrez, twinkled with the mirth in his left eye, but only that one. An equally long stride took him following the other man with his long, long hair, but he took his pause at the end to run his fingers, almost lovingly, along the edge of the battle-scarred countertop.
"This place is one of fond memories for me," he said to his fellow. Even the memories involving getting punched, or was it high-heel kicked, in the nose. Which had earned him a delightful nickname from a certain sadistic someone he knew.