Neon Age

It had been a very long time since Moshe had felt the cool, hard damp of asphalt under their feet at such a brisk pace and at this time of night, but a life-destroying, inter-dimensional critter had to do what they had to do. It was around four in the morning and nippy out as they hurried along an alleyway they knew was off-and-on inhabited by mutts and delinquents and thus significantly safer than walking willy-nilly down the street where they could be seen by... someone... Some cool, aether dusted wind would gust down the alley and tickle their cheeks, naturally drawn to their brethren coursing through her veins. Blood would rise to the surface and blossom along the surface of their skin like someone had smeared black tar on their face. Very attractive.

Moshe had no idea where they were going. Most usually when they were found out or simply when things grew disinteresting, they would disappear into the deep night to a different place in the city and weasel their way into another crap situation full of crap people to gently push into doing crap things to other crap people. This time was fairly different, though, because they were somewhat frightened. Not like a human, of course; anxiety was merely niggling at the edges of their mind. That's all it was, honestly. Apprehension at possibly sleeping on a bench and nothing else.

Their mind was foggy with quick thought as they hurried down some slick steps and into a glow of neon light. Certainly not suspicious at all, especially not with the scent of aether and booze permeating the air and the pulsating bass of music becoming louder and louder the further down they went. Human clubs would be too much for them at the current moment; they needed to find a deep cushion in the corner and sink into it, alone, among throngs of things somewhat akin to their kind before their brain exploded and some Duster found them keeled over sadly in the gutter, bathed dew.

The club had been renovated from an Old Times subway, the word renovated being used loosely; all that had really been altered was the electric, plumbing, and ambience. Speakers had been mounted into the walls and fog machines put in, of course, as if the general area any sentient thing in this city traveled through wasn't foggy enough on any good morning, and the horned creature would enter and breathe it all in, breathing a sigh of relief. There would be some pauses from the people crowding the area, moving in and out of the parked train car, at the sight of the odd, small figure entering the club. Thankfully it was dark and they could mosey on over to a bench in the corner, sit, and try to collect themself amidst all of the gyrating.

Ignatio deserved the award for the most thorough and persistent disguise in the city. So few people knew what he was or had even seen him that people really only knew him by his signature hooded look. Were he a super hero he'd probably just be The Hood. Even in a dive like this heavily populated by hybrids and trans-dimensionals like himself he refused to bare his face. Here, it wasn't so much fear of surveillance as it was pure self-consciousness. It was a little absurd given there were far less attractive creatures in the world than himself, like the unfortunate insectoid critters or the hybrids with unfortunate deformities. A few wrinkles and peach fuzz had nothing on those poor souls, but Ig was adamant.

So, though he lounged in one of the dark corners of the club far removed from the gyrating throng of bodies he took no food and no drink because that would require unzipping his hood. So why the hell was he there? Killing time between jobs, and this was where he was supposed to meet one of his dealers for another, ah, shipment. Ignatio had nothing better to do than just wait around and fuck around on his phone. Mindless information consumption and Product Placement: The Game featured prominently here.

As Ig shifted his weight off his tail which was stuffed into one of his pant legs, he took notice of a peculiar creature he'd not seen there before. His stare lingered though unseen for several moments until it slithered into a seat not terribly far from him and he returned his attention back to his phone. Yeah, real social butterflies these guys were.

Moshe's eyes would adjust as the anxiety seeped out of them, dissipating into the air of drunkenness in the club. They'd take in their surroundings promptly. Weird, annoying lights, weird people, weird things, weird people things. Everything they'd naturally expected when choosing this place to hide in but seeing someone in what looked like a cross between a hoodie and a morph suit. While considering the mechanics of this, they'd be vaguely aware of someone trying to communicate with them but would ignore the irritating external stimuli in favor of squinting their eyes across the small gap and at Ignatio, waving the other whoever-it-was off with one horrible paw and scooting over along the bench.

Their other arm would lift from their lap and from its concealed spot underneath their poncho. Two claws would extend, index and thumb, pinch the zipper on Iggy's hood, and either complete the motion of fully unzipping it or get fairly close to, eyebrows knit together in concentration, movements slow and deliberate and probably somewhat unnoticeable until their horrible kitchen knife hand was right in his face. It had really been a long time since they made adequate use of their motor skills and they could easily blind whatever was underneath if they weren't careful and if it had eyes in just the right place. One could never be too careful.

They were honestly more interested in the mechanics of the hoodie, and if it had a breathing apparatus of some kind within it, rather than what was underneath. How could that be misconstrued?

Ignatio continued to absorb himself into his phone, a thing that looked like a rectangular piece of glass capped with some kind of polished metal on either end where the electronics were housed. It wasn't the most advanced or recent or models, those ones had holographic support but it was still a nice piece piece of hardware to anyone capable of appreciating it. Moshe was unlikely to be such a person.

Instead, the weird bullhorned thing seemed to be one of innumerable people more interested in invading his personal space. As Moshe came closer Ig took pause in his mindless information consumption and eyeballed her out of the corner of his eye. The tech behind the hood was rather simple and it worked much like a one-way mirror. People tended to be immensely interested in unmasking him, particularly at scenes like this where everyone just let everything hang loose and Ignatio accounted for that. He froze as those enormous bear hands drew near, his eyeballs certainly massive enough to be gouged easily, and felt this nosy bugger tug on the zipper. Maglock, bitch. The zipper wouldn't budge and it was unlikely Moshe would manage to disengage it without considerable force.

"Do you mind?" Ignatio drawled, voice a baritone and very clearly male. It couldn't be gathered from looking at the hooded figure, but he was looking directly at Moshe now, leering with those huge unseen eyeballs that would be so squishy and gougable. Careful with those finger knives, please.