It had been a long night, and though the Ancient did not sleep on the schedule of most, it had been many a day since she had sought rejuvenation. So far, this day did not look to be the one in which she would rest.

Between the hammering of badly worded posters being pounded onto any surface that stood still, the stragglers of strangely armored men still scouting the area and banging on her door to inquire after some metal woman, and the random denizen of the neighborhood asking after something or other, she figured it best to give up.

And so, this early afternoon found her seated on her kitchen floor, Baby's v-twin in pieces all about her. Elflocks were tied atop her head, grease and oil streaks covering her from the strange script symbol behind her left ear, across her chest above the neckline of her tank, along bare legs and even the toes of her right foot.

Just as she was performing the refitting of the piston pins, three knocks jolted her out of that zen moment and she nearly dropped the crankshaft on top of one of the heads. Owing to how disastrous this could have been, shoving one piston pin to the pocket of her cut-off jeans and brandishing the shaft like a club she stomped to the front door, grumbling all the way.

"I be tellin' ye, I 'ave nae seen a met..." The anger flaring in those glamoured blue eyes died immediately, replaced by a sheepish grin.

"Jodiah, I....Ye came to visit." Silvered brows rising with surprise, though one was nearly black with a sweep of oil decorating her forehead.

"Um....Welcome." She stood back from the entrance and gestured with the shaft. "Please, enter o' ye own free will. To wha' do I be owin' this unexpected pleasure?"

"Aye, ye did say ye be comin' by." Her tone suggesting she was still surprised he'd actually done so, though was not unhappy to see him.

'Gnomes"' she thought, but didn't press as he continued to relay the varied reasons for being in her neck of the woods. Closing the door, crank still in hand, she stepped forth when he turned to face her. "Onyx Lotus, north o' here 'bout three blocks then west for a half. But, ye dun 'ave to travel if'n ye dun wan'. I be 'avin' more o' the pills I be givin' to ye. Unless ye prefer an alternative?"

Suddenly, she became very conscious of the state of her being. His eyes sweeping her form, zeroing in on each smattering of grease and grime. For a moment silvered brows furrowed, that faultless flesh between creased harsh before he looked up at her and told her she looked like what she imagined. She'd looked worse. No doubt, so had he.

A smirk, though mirth danced in glamoured blue eyes. "Why than' ye, Jodiah. So kind o' ye to notice. Baby be 'avin' a noise."

Walking past him, her head tossing to set the tail of elflocks off in raucous chiming, she moved through the remainder of the hall stepping down into the great room to place the crank upon a low-slung table. The Panhead had taken on an odd thrum, true, but it was more owing to the fact Sid had needed a distraction that the mage bike's engine now lay scattered about her kitchen reduced to its elemental parts. This was therapy.

"I be glad ye came, Jodiah. Bel be about somewhere. Be ye carin' for a drink" I 'ave beer, a few bottles o' choice stock, tea, coffee....Ye wan' to see me engine?" This last was queried with a bright, almost eager smile; dancing over any troubles she may have mentioned to him earlier. "It be in the kitchen . . ."

Picking the crank back up, pointing to an arch in the far wall just visible past the end of the stairs, she bounded up the great room's steps, looking back to him. "I can be gettin' ye drink there, too. Ye can sit." It was clear the Ancient didn't do a great deal of entertaining. One might even guess none.

"Perhaps you could show me how it works?"

His words reached sensitive ears easily, and before he'd even finished the last of them she was down from the upstairs and bursting through the kitchen's swinging door with not even a ragged pull of breath to show for it. Crank in one hand and a box in the other, she set the latter to the kitchen table and snagged what looked to be one of the Red Dragon's bar rags, handing it over to him.

"There be some solvent on tha', get it right off for ye." Nodding to the bearing grease, he was ineffectually trying to swipe off on a pant leg. "I be lovin' to tell ye the ins an' outs, if'n ye be sure ye up to hearin' me drone on, Jodiah. Let me get tha' drink for ye first."

Skirting the "bones? of her wheel-less wonder, she was opening the door to the large refrigerator - the inside held not much but bottles of this, that and the other along with several piles of fresh fruit in varying states of grace. "I be 'avin' several types o' beer an' lager . . ." clinking the bottles about as she sorted through them. "I be e'en 'avin' some wine, it be lookin' like. Though, ye did be sayin' beer. But, um . . . Sand Plum, a Pinot Grigio an' some . . . Liebfraumilch. Ye choice." Shutting the door, turning around with an expectant look, she gives the spot above that strange symbol just below her left ear a scratch, dislodging more black from her fingers to the flesh there.

Almost reverently, lovingly, she placed the crank to a space on the huge white sheet that held the rest of the parts and covered most of the kitchen floor. Gingerly stepping over them all and pausing at the back door, the Ancient glances out into the small backyard and the tree there. Its tri-color leaves glinting silver, gold and copper in the afternoon sun.

Finally, glamoured blue eyes return their attentions to Jodiah, perhaps a bit clouded in that second before she smiled, all bright and warm like a pure world's first sun beam touching down. "I be 'avin' somethin' new for ye knee I wan' ye to be tryin', too. I know ye be nae takin' the pills like I be tellin' ye."

Her tone brooked no argument, the sideways grin the smile morphed into saying she knew it as fact and there was nothing he could do about it. "Ye still be needin' to take the pills, though." Moving to the table, she picked up the box and pulled out an oversize bottle that rattled full to the top when she shook it to punctuate her words.

"Now, these be only for sometimes, when ye get the worse kind o' stiffness. They be almos' like magic." Again that grin came, full and fox lit as she drug out a large stack of soft white cloth with blue lining. "Ye canna e'en see them under ye clothes an' they be workin' for near eight hours time. Ye jus' tug one up on ye knee an' it gets cold first, then it gets hot. Nae so hot ye canna stand, though. Try it." And she handed one over to him, setting the rest back to the box beside him on the table. "Now, tell me wha' I can be gettin' ye to drink whilst ye be doin' tha', aye."

Bel pushed at the door set in the top of the piping that opens into Sid's Brownstone, but her hands are slippery with blood, her attempt is futile.

"Damn, rodents! You'd think we had enough problems with the people in Rhy"Din, why add oversized rats"!" Wiping her bloody hands on her jeans as she speaks aloud to no one in particular.

"Ms. Bel" I think we've found the problem." The voice is distinctly male and carries down the corridor of the sewage pipe off to the east of her.

(Sewage pipes in Westend are in worst shape than many of the abandoned buildings, but Bel is determined to map them nevertheless" One never knows when one may need a quick escape route")

She allows the smile to bloom, at least some progress is being made, too bad Sid won't let them use magic to clear and restore the sewage system, things would go much faster" But Sid has this issue with magic, how it tends to deteriorate without warning and so on and so forth' so Bel is forced to use actual hard labor. Yippy.

"Can you clear it' Let me know where it comes out, yes?" She calls down the pipe back to the workman.

"Of course." A pause. "You heading up then?" His tone not very happy.

Bel chuckles softly to herself, one would think these big strapping He-Men would be able to handle a few Skaven on their own, but' alas, had they a choice they'd run screaming and leave the killing expressly to her.

"Yes, heading up, but I've destroyed the three nests and all their occupants, Weston. The Skaven won't be bothering us again until we break through the rubble obscuring the pipes crossing."

"Oh, ah, ok." If Weston's voice is any indication, he isn't consoled by her words. "We'll, umm, call you if we, ahh, need you, right?"

Shaking her head with an amused smirk she calls back down the corridor. "Of course, you do that, sweets" You call *me* when you feel the need to be *rescued*?" She doesn't bother hiding her amusement but lets it leak out all over her words.

With a determined push, Bel shoves at the door flipping it open, and with the ease of her race hops up into Sid's basement. Kicking the door in the floor closed she eyes her hands, still stained with gore, then checks her clothing, not surprised that they too are worse for wear"

"How is it I always end up looking like I've just come from some battlefield"!" Which begs her to question if a change in life is in order after all?"

"Agggh. I need a bath!" The mere thought brings a smile to full lips stained the color of dark blood. Sid's bathroom is like an Oasis"a relaxing and enjoyable experience to say the least what with the tropical rain forest theme, the skylight, and that huge tub! It could easily fit six" in Bel's estimation anyway....In her mind, Bel is already filling the tub as she makes her way up the stairs leading to the house proper.

Pausing at the basement door she hears voices on the other side. One is easily recognized as Sid's but the other is lower, gruffer, kind of familiar in the "maybe-I-met-them-one-night-at-the-inn" way.

Sid has company' Bel is a smart soul; she knows that Sid's been suffering of late, even if Sid isn't aware of it herself. Bel realizes that her sister needs to get laid in the worst way. To put it simply: it is *that* time of the year. Besides, their race feeds off of all sorts of energy, but sex" it is one of the best! And Sid hasn't been feeding or resting of late" In fact, Bel is truly worried that Sid may be lured back into her addiction by the "White Dragon".

"Pecca" the word is spat in a dark, low whisper. Bel hated the stuff mainly because it is the most addictive substance to her race, (and those of the Fay...) It, (Pecca), is a life stealer, it woos with promises of peace and seduces by stealing away cares and thoughts, dampening personal power, stealing the soul's energy. What it really does is destroy. It wipes the minds of the users, leaving them empty, uncaring husks of what they once were. She remembers the days when Sid ran with the Dead Warlocks, she remembers her sister on Pecca" And she will do anything to keep Sid far away from it"

So, if that is a male in there" maybe Bel shouldn't intrude" But she really wants that bath' she can feel the drool gathering in her mouth she wants it so badly'

'Ahh, decisions, decisions"'

All in all, Bel is a selfish bitch' her own desire wins out over Sid's potential 'respite".

"Besides", Bel tells herself, "I won't stay long, I'll just breeze right on by with a cheery smile waving""

She opens the door and steps into the kitchen, her beatific smile already in place" that green gaze falls on the male and a shiver, (the kind one gets that makes them say "someone has just walked over my grave"), crawls up her spine coming to rest at the small of her neck where every hair comes to sudden attention, standing up on end.

Ayreg "

All 5"3" of that small framed body goes rigid as her smile freezes upon those lips, green eyes widen appreciable but to her credit she works amazingly quick to regain her composure.

"Perhaps he didn't notice"" she silently reassures herself.

"Ahh, Lord Ayreg, how" *nice* to see you?" She does not offer him a gory hand.

'That would be rude, right"'

Truth is she doesn't want him to touch her" There is something about that male, something dark, something scarily familiar which makes her want to put as much distance between her and him that she can' (The powerful are Bel's weakness, and she has her hands full enough already...)

Seeking a fast distraction she looks rapidly at Sid, standing almost beside the male, before her gaze drifts almost immediately to the kitchen floor where Baby is *still* spread hither and thither.

"Ahh' Hope I'm not interrupting?" Licking at suddenly dry lips. "I am just passing through anyway. Kind of in the need of a bath?" A small delicate hand waves over the bloody ruin of her clothing. "Oh, my, I must smell pretty bad too' Killing Skaven is a messy job?"

"That can't be me babbling like an air-headed bimbo' Could it?"!!"

What is it about this male that brings out the very worst in her?"! It just makes her madder at Ayreg, not that it is his fault really' She reminds her self to stick to her original plan"it's a simple goal really: Get away from the pair of them and do it quick!

His eyes slid across the label on the bottle. Irish Red. Whoever Killian was. And why was Killian not upset about Sid having her — the name bespoke a certain feminine quality — stash of booze" What's an irish' He peered into the bottle, and frowned slightly.

It did not look red, either.

But it smelt about the same as the ale did back at the Red Dragon, so he lifted the bottle to his lips and took a deep pull from it. Tasted about the same, too. Perhaps a little smoother, though. Wherever the red irish Killian person was, it was so very clearly not in the brewery run by the orc that supplied Panther with his stock.

And a good thing, too.

He listened quietly, sipping now from this not-red "beer" substance in the bottle as she explained the name. Baby. "I look forward to that ride, Obsidian. I do believe I still owe you a trip on my own horse. Perhaps you could even help me decide upon a name for her."

She spoke about "gas combustible" and engines, and he was lost. Perhaps one of the gnomes could explain to him precisely what it meant later, but the magic — magic he knew. He didn't know it well enough to use it, himeslf, but he was familiar with many of the basic concepts.

"Though, with nae wheels, 'tis sort o' a moot point for them wha' canna ride." The look upon her face spoke volumes of how she considered those who did not, indeed, know. He was an educated man, after all, and it was often said the devil itself was in the details. Details decided the course of battles; the course of war. He was quite acquainted with details, indeed.

"Well, then, if it is such a valued thing, perhaps you would be so kind as to teach me?" The words were spoken flatly, but the wry twist in his thin lips may have been directed as a tease. She had just insulted him, after all. Somewhat.

Was she abashed" Embarassed, perhaps, turning dark with the flush of color to her cheeks" Time would tell; he did have an eye for details, after all, but whether she was or not, she continued on.

The spellbox he recognized, though he did have a different name for it. Something very similar to it powered his suit of clockwork armor, after all — a mana battery. These he was familiar with.

As she began explaining the "spark plug," though, she trailed off and her head turned. "Bel! See, I be tellin' Jodiah ye be here somewhe . . . "

And there she was.

Belial.

He rose to his own feet, ostensibly taking another gulp of the "red" Killian's "irish" — a silly name, if ever there was one. He masked his own nervousness in her presence with all of the years of practice he's had (it would simply not do for a death knight to appear anything less than entirely in control of himself, after all) and does his best to appear casually indifferent to her. In the back of his mind though, he feels the itch there between his shoulder blades again.

The feeling one had just before the afore-mentioned knife plunged down between your ribs.

It had to be the tail.

The hackles on the back of his neck stood up on end as he faced her. "Ahh, Lord Ayreg, how" nice to see you?"

Yep. Definitely the tail.

Perhaps he had mistaken her tone. Perhaps he did not. Perhaps they were just destined to stare at each other like strange cats in a small room. Whatever the case, he offers a polite (and just-so; the perfect amount of politeness; neither too much, nor too little) nod of his head. "My lady Belial. You look as if you've been....seeing some excitement."

"Ahh' Hope I'm not interrupting" I am just passing through anyway. Kind of in the need of a bath' Oh, my, I must smell pretty bad too' Killing Skaven is a messy job?"

"Frellin' crap! How many Skaven ye be 'avin' to kill" An', though I be nae really wantin' this answer, I dun think, how many more ye be thinkin' be down there?"

So, the death knight mused, two women who are not afraid to get their hands dirty. And their arms. And their faces. Their entire bodies, actually. Tread lightly, man, he told himself, there are no more dangerous creatures in the world than a woman not afraid to sling in the mud.

Metaphorical, perhaps, but yet here he stood. Obsidian in her grease. Belial in her gore. A dangerous combination of creatures, indeed.

"Have you ever considered getting a cat?" He asked. It was a simple solution to the problem, insofar as he figured it. He did add, though, once he took another appraising look of Belial and her....adornments of sinew and bodily fluids, judging by bits of flesh and bone and muscle clinging to her the general size of the creatures. "Several. Several, really....big cats?"