MrMopp
Two Thousand Club
Some tipsy schmuck next to Ruu glanced down at him and casually mumbled something about how he didn’t know this was a smoking bar.Ruu flinches, a swirl of smoke catching the soup. The climbing voices and arguments in the background only add to some instinctual fear as he shrinks into his chair.
He physically begins to “sink” into the smoke, his form changing within the darkness. Ruu remains cloaked in his smoke, opening a small window to see through. He’d need to thank Miss Yahile later.
His smoke snakes along the ground, prepared to throw up a wall if need be; though his magic held no force, it could hide one quite well.
Don let out an inaudible whew.Vasu relaxed as the entity spoke,
"What.. exactly do you have, Human? Seared Colo? Grilled Doarmir?" The question was directed as a bemused challenge by the Zealot. Surely, this establishment only had proven catering to Human-like beings so far.
Sadly, totally accurate.
Don responded to the jab with a dry eye roll. “Gee, fresh out.” he said. “How about some beef steak instead? That sound good?” Don figured a slab of meat on a plate was a dish as far removed from any particular culture as you could get, given the guys distain for anything ”human”...
Speaking of, the old devil himself leaned out the service window, oven mitts on and clutching a push/pull stick in one like a murder weapon. The cooks face was grim, gaunt an mirthless with a scar across one side, and his flinty, perpetually wrathful eyes flicked around the room like they were looking for someone to kill. “Who ordered the pie?” He growled.When the Elite spoke of food Yatarrak snickered. "Ask about the one they call 'Boomer.'"
Don doomed Ruu by pointing him out. “Eh, Smokey Joe here.” ( honeylemon ).
Boomer brandished the oven stick at Ruu. “HOW OLD ARE YA, KID?” He snarled out of the blue.