The Crouching Tiger Tavern indeed. Did these people have no imagination? Not to mention any class.
A scowl marred Charmeines beauty for a moment, then was gone as she smoothed her features and entered the less than reputable looking…establishment. A broiling cesspool of a place if ever she’d seen one, bar fights breaking out every which way, barmaids scurrying about trying not to get pinched. Not the sort of place Charmeine would usually visit, but orders were orders, and when it cam to demons it was always a bad idea to waste time. That’s what the theory said anyway…she’d never actually encountered a demon herself exactly.
She glanced about, getting quite a few stares from the patrons, searching for her charge. It shouldn’t be all that difficult in a place like this to find who she was after. She went over the orders again in her head.
Mission class 368B
Human female Beatrid Al’teir aged 26 is suspected victim of demonic encounter.
Age: 26
Height: 5’7�
Brown braid. Dragoon in local military. Possible magical nullification ability, no magic based technology is to be taken.
Discover and stop demonic influence. Corrupter class demon suspected. Do not directly engage.
Short, sweet, to the point. Class 368B meant non-violent demon attack, perfect for an angel of her level. Charmeine possessed no combat ability whatsoever, so not engaging the demon wouldn’t be a problem. Charmeine stood in the doorway, unsure of her best approach to this crowd. Her fine linen sarong and corset, which revealed a considerable expanse of pale bosom, was attracting quite a few stares. The corset was leather, and dipped low at the back to reveal the large tattoo of feathery wings that covered most of her back. There were swirling tattoos on the back of her hands and wrists too, and both seemed to have been inked with liquid gold. Grey ankle high boots with raised heels and upturned tops completed the ensemble. It had been high fashion during the period Charmeine was a mortal, thousands of years ago, before the world’s rebirth. It suddenly seemed like not quite as good an idea as she originally had thought. Waves of pale yellow hair framed her heart shaped face, falling just below her shoulders. She had been pretty before ascending, and acceptance into the folds of heaven had augmented that to pure beauty. Blue eyes, full lips, a tiny beauty spot just above the right corner of her mouth and a nicely curved body certainly weren’t going to help her get through the mob.
She could sense her charge, this Beatrid, sense where se was. Well, the direction anyway. It was like an itch, an itch that would only go away once Charmeine found her. She was in the direction of the door at the back leading to the kitchens or something, and somehow significantly down as well. Strange.
Holding her head high Charmeine strode towards the door. Well, she strode for about three steps at least. On the fourth she whirled about to slap whoever had grabbed her bottom, only to have her groped from the other side. She burst into the back room at a dead run, slamming the door behind herself. Breathing heavily and readjusting her sarong, which had moved around to become quite indecent in her flight, Charmeine studied the room. A wine room, it seemed, holding rows of various sized casks and barrels. Beatrid was definitely nearby, yet more down now that forward.
Something caught her eye, something….odd. One of the barrels had a handle on it in addition to its tap. What on earth could a barrel have a handle for? She snickered at it. What a pathetic way to hide an entrance. These people really were primitive; they didn’t even have the basics of projected imaging yet!
Still grinning at the crudeness of it all Charmeine yanked open the ‘door’ revealing a ladder and a deep hole. Noises echoed up from below. Well, down the hatch then. She went down backwards, hoping there was no one looking up from the bottom of the ladder â€" undergarments were just not practical with a sarong!