Fear and Loathing in Silvermoon

((Off the cuff, and ridiculous. This may continue. I hope it does. XD))

Jurien reached a single hand towards the shined brass knob to his bedroom. Inside was a woman. She might be awake. She might even be in the mood. Maybe. And he was a man that walked in a daze. Not even a finely induced one from thistle, blood drops, honey dust, or even just a pinch of devil's dare under the tongue. No, he was just dead. Or near it. Thank the Light he had brothers in law. Evil. Brothers. In law.

One hand landed on each shoulder. They spun him best they could, though with Jurien's girth it required a bit of work. Mercer wore grey foggy glasses he stole from someone, a feathered boa of ecplisian dragonhawk and scarlet sabre fur. His suit was velvet, crushed, or just rumpled, and a shirt the same pink Leareth warned Illapa of. His party shirt. For nights just like these. He puffed the shape of a dancing dog from his pipe, though in truth it was just a cloud that dazzled the senses of those just breathing it in.

"You are coming with us. Talk and we'll do something you'll regret." Mercer was intent with eyes the size of small coconuts and a way of looking over the man that made him know, he was groped without fingers.

Adrion stood in polar opposite. Black shirt, black suit, black cravat, Marcius' stolen black glasses, and a hat. "We're on a mission from god.... don't ask which." If his eyes could be seen, cause frankly they couldn't, they might have been shaking in the sockets from whatever blazed his brain.

They shoved a pipe between his lips, laced flask of something that burned in his hand, and a ticket for a glorious night in his pocket, even a little bit of jewelry if the night demanded it with some loose philly. The boys were packing and jonsing for a time of their lives. Or at least until they passed out.

There was a carriage. With some young thing in it. It might have been a girl. Or a guy. Or even Mercer in a dress. He was fast with clothes, to be sure, and always seemed ready for some form of action. Rumor had it, the man never carried a gun, just holsters filled with the kind of paraphernalia that would get a human tossed in the Stockades for a few years...or make him the height of the party in Silvermoon. Thank the light, that's where they were tossed out.

Mercer landed in a roll, coming to his feet with a quick look left and right. "We can't stop here..."

Adrion groaned as he ensured their gentleman hostage was with them, the young thing tied to his arm tossing winks and blown kisses to the air by someone's belt. Maybe Mercer's. He obviously didn't care if his pants fell off. It would only improve the night. "Bat country? I hate that."

Mercer puffed. Nodded. And turned with a twirl that made his long coat a cape. He was the bat man. Nothing could hurt him. Not even goblin head ramming into his groin. He was too juiced to notice.

They were outside a club. One of many for the evening. Flinging wide his arms, Mercer fell to his knees. "GENTLEMAN! I bid you a night like we will never remember! With drinking and nudity and maybe even a monkey. Let's see how many places we can get tossed out hmm?" He looked over his shoulder as some one shoved a note in his pants. No it was just his pocket. Actually it was the valet marker for the carriage. Who cares, it felt like his pants so he pelvic thrusted.

Adrion turned to Jurien. They shared a nod in simultaneous fashion. Oh yes. Ladies. Fey boys. THE MEN HAD ARRIVED. Boobies and bums weren't safe. Well...from Mercer. The other two, who could say really.

Let's look these boys up close and personal. Adrion. Was he dead? Alive? A figment of their imaginations? Did all the Silverwood kids have some daddy warbucks soulstone on em? Maybe. Or maybe it took them this long to find their way back home. He was still tall with a curling of red hair and striking pose to make any woman weep. A bicep could carve ice. Though he really wasn't an artist. Or even into ice sculptures. But if he was, it was amazing.

Now pan right. You see that studly man in unrelieved black? Red gold hair? Dashing and just reaching the first level of transcendence we like to call...the groove? Jurien. He might be an Azuresong, but after the tokes they were smoking, Brightspark seemed to fit more. Though according to the women that tried to sit on their lap, he barely seemed to fit his breeches. Or was that Mercer.

Draw up tight on the unblinking ring leader of this circus. He looked a fool, but he could lead this trio into any trip he wanted. Despite the pink shirt, nothing could withstand that lazy hungry look he could give. Or was it the gold coins? Maybe it was his deft kisses. With tongue. He isn't any amateur.

And so it was they entered the first club of the night. There was nakedness. And drinks shot from belly buttons. And boobs. So many boobs. Somewhere at somepoint, someone traded pants. And finally after about three turns around the merry go round, they ended up on the right people.

But that is another day. Another tale. Of drinking. Smoking. And hookers.

In Silvermoon. The city that never sleeps. Even if we shot it.

It was the house. Not just any house. But THE house. And up there was a man. He had long silver hair and a bum that liked to get jiggy with it. What is jiggie and it? Mercer didn't care. He just wanted to panty raid his room. Did the man have panties? Manly panties? It was about time to find out.

"GENTLEMAN. Up there...you know what's up there?" Mercer still hadn't blinked. It had been hours. Or five minutes that felt like hours. His pipe flickered with a strange sort of burn, the kind that in his eyes looked like tiny demonic draenei, dancing in a circle. He loved this weed dipped in fel dust and smacked nice and flat on some virgin's hiney. It had to be a virgin right? Goblins don't lie.

Jurien artfully remained on his feet though he had a row of red lipstick kisses on his chest that spelled MAN. It was BOLD. And awesome. And hopefully was not actually made out of hickies. "That...is...no. No. Mercer this is..." He twirled his hand around and around, with tiny little snaps. He was trying to find a way to say bad as in REALLY bad. Like Deathwing popping in for a late night snack on your fase bad. Like Euphrates in a deadly bunny costume come to play with orphan orcs bad. TRICK OR TREAT. Wait. Wrong season.

Instead, Adrion tapped a foot and pulled out a horn. He had to admit, Jurien had a fine beat. Mercer pulled free a absinthe spoon and smacked it on his knuckles. They went into poetic verse song. Under Illapa's window.

"Yo man. Yoo oo ooh man. Illy. Illappapi Eiiiii. He was a thief. You gotta believe. You stole my heart and my pants. Illy. He makes me horny. Saterday morny. I wonder IF he has ANY panties." Mercer turned as something heavy was thrown whizzing past his head. "Hey Adrion, get me off this...what are we doing?"

Jurien snapped both fingers, and said. "This is...bad."

Adrion and Mercer stared at him. Suddenly, he was slapped from two sides.

"We have smoked ourselves retarded."

No one knows who said it. But. They were right. In a shuffling fox trot, they were gone.

Only days later would they realize, the window belonged to the judge. That would later hear their case. About the naked conga line. And the pink tallstrider. That could tell fortunes.

Mercer looked left, eyes steely behind smokey gray glasses. He gave a single definitive nod that made the world jiggle like some strange child's treat. Adrion's eyes met his own, or they would be, but his glasses were like the night sky going on and on. He turned right and looked upon Jurien who grinned so wide his jaws looked like a crocodile, some dame wriggling on his lap whispering what a man he was.

"This is... the best idea I've ever had. I am depending on your aid, gentleman."

"Better than the monkey directing the carriage with the driver blindfolded?"

"By far. That monkey didn't even have a license!"

"Better than the strip poker game with the blind prostitutes?"

"Yes. And seeing eye poker was damn hard to top!"

Mercer flung his arms wide to either side, disrupting whatever was going on under their table. Was it some adoring fans wanting to adore him close up and personal. He grinned looking down to the face of love. She held up his scarf. No it was a rag. Actually it was someone cleaning the drink he spilled. Maybe he just needed to help her. Zip.

"Yes sirs, this will be excellent. I think it's time I take up responsibility, justice, honor. It's time to send Illy the Thief of Hearts and My Pants a ...letter. Gentleman, BRING ME BOYS!" Jurien clapped giddy, with a booming voice. Adrion nodded snapping his fingers in a way that demanded for the boy to approach in single file.

Mercer had his pants off, rigging them on a sword as a form of banner. All houses needed banners. His was awesome. Black with a length of hot pink sequined fire embroidery along the sides, smelling of rum. He was a pirate, striking his claim. Who wouldn't want a little of the captain in them? HUZZAH.

One at a time, boy toys were brought forth and put through the paces. Mercer leaned over steepled fingers as the young men were brought forth. "We have a desperate need of a courier. But not just any courier. Commence the tests."

Jurien turned the face of each lad brought forth, nuzzling their cheeks, running fingers over their pecs. "Mmm so fresh. Like a baby's bum. And silky strong. Can you purr?"

Some he would shake his head for. Adrion dealt with them quick enough seeing Mercer's thumbs down. Those that passed the test of hotties, they had to pull from Jurien's grabby hands all gimmie gimmie. Then they had to pull them from Mercer's nom nom lips. Eveutally Adrion sat on them.

Those that passed they set Adrion to stare at. Hard. Mean. He never said a word, just raised a brow, stared intently, did his very best at serious creepy...creepy serious...SERIOUS VEIN POPPING ON FOREHEAD faces he could give. Those that lived entered the ultimate test.

Mercer pulled forth a feather.

** ** **

"And now gentleman, we finally have found our muse. Stripped. Washed. Bowtied. Let's get to work. Bring out the weapons."

Puffs of pink and teal smoke curled in a deadly fog over the three men. Mercer paced around them, pant-less, in the tightest little pink underthings with gold stars embroidered on them and his lovely pink party shirt. "Dear Lord Illapa Greybane...my lovely gentleman. I find myself ready for more than mere adventure...One needs more than the never ending party, gorgeous gentleman, adoring ladies...they need others to share this with. And who better to make your life richer than...me?"

Adrion and Jurien took the dictation with care, writing in varied hues of red and pink lipstick over the naked body of the young man that held still without being ticklish. A huge pink bow tied around his "waist".

And so they continued the greatest house letter of entreaty that the world would EVER see. Of course, this was after three bottles worth of shots they drank from his belly button...