( open )

[baguablade]

Who: Cain (baguablade) & you!
What: event catch-all - investigating, hunting down bad guys, making (bad) medicinal soup, whatever
When: post attack
Where: Olympia
Warning(s): none

( a : no hunting like the hunting of man )

[ The group gathered in the market is strangely subdued, even for the wariness that's fallen over the place after the attack. There's something going around, glazed-over eyes and jerky movements, oddly shuffling feet as the group makes its way through the district. Some of the men and women bump into things and seem not to notice; others are laughing and chatting far too loudly, stilted — an obvious act.

At the center of the group is a man, bright-eyed and alert, the only one looking anything resembling normal. His sleeves are pulled down, but as he turns, one rides up, revealing a large "M" on his wrist.

One of the Shady Man's associates — and while the group hasn't noticed yet, sharp-eyed individuals might pick out Cain following along behind the group, taking a meandering path through the market as he trails their steps. He seems relaxed and at ease, but his gaze is sharp, watching the man, and his hand never strays far from the hilt of his sword.

Whether you're just passing by, doing your own shopping, or whether you're hunting the tattooed man, too, straying too close to the group has Cain abruptly stepping up behind you, grabbing your arm, and pulling you back into the shadows of an alley. ]

Hey. [ Low, hissed with urgency. ] Don't get near them, or you'll get caught, too.

( b : painted full of tongues )

[ It's not exactly the nicest of bars in town, paint peeling, tables uneven, the lighting dim and flickering, suspicious stains on the floor. But it is exactly the sort of bar that men who've recently helped set off a virus-laden bomb in the center of the city might frequent, an establishment where the drink is cheap, the customers are unfriendly, and no one asks too many questions.

Cain, of course, has come here to ask far too many questions.

He's nursing a drink (untouched, he keeps pouring a little bit of it out when it seems like no one's watching) and listening to the very interesting conversation going on nearby — the conversation between two women with "M" tattoos on their wrists.

Meet his eyes, catch onto what he's doing — if you approach him, he'll smile at you like an old friend. ]

There you are. What do you want to drink?

( c : toil and trouble )

[ The soup Cain's cooking can't exactly be called soup when it's neon-blue and roiling, letting off faintly pinkish steam. With the large cast-iron stewpot he's making it in, it looks more like a witch's brew in a cauldron than soup. Also it somehow smells like both fresh laundry and wet dog. Mysterious, but hopefully something to help with the equally mysterious illness going around after the market attack — the large chunk of also mysterious sea creature tooth that he's ground a bit of and used as seasoning might help, considering its medicinal properties. Or it might not, but either way, Cain stripped down to pants, undershirt, and under-gauntlets and wielding a wooden stirring spoon over the cheerfully bubbling not-soup is certainly a sight.

And hard to ignore, since he's cooking it in the kitchen of his apartment with the windows thrown wide open. Anyone passing by could easily catch sight of the cloud of pink vapors, catch a whiff of the (very strong) smell, or even hear Cain talking to himself. ]

It's probably not enough to reanimate the dead...

[ You might even pass by just in time to hear the loud roar of something combusting. Cain's startled yelp and the gooey blue soup going everywhere is pretty hard to miss. ]

( d : wildcard )

( If there's anything else you'd like to plot out with me, I'm available at idelva or through PMs! )