The alcohol in Martel's drink was the colour of ditchwater in the bottom of her grimy glass- not at all like those dramas she had listened to as a kid, not like those romance novels her mother kept, where the distraught lover gazed at their reflection in amber and gold, before submerging themselves in its sweetness. No. She couldn't see her reflection here, not in the drink and not in the worn wood of the bar, and when she drank she thought she was drowning.

It was a good thing, though. She didn't really want to look at her reflection. As a child, her mother had often said she was pretty, but Martel didn't think it was true anymore. She wondered what had become of her mother- and then downed that thought with another mouthful, emptying this time the cup. The burn made the skin in her throat ache, so much she almost wanted to retch, but to do so would only double the pain. It didn't matter. It was a good distraction, and she could feel her head becoming heavier, less inclined to memory or deep thought. That was good. She didn't really want to think, just to dream, and make the world around her as flat and toneless as the best of such things.

She let the bartender fill up her cup again with more of the poison, and realized in a vague way that she had come to recognize his face- he was always here, whenever she was, if that meant anything. And yet they never spoke and she did not know his name. That was for the best- she couldn't afford to get close to anyone anymore, not as she was now. She couldn't let anyone see her, not really. Any regular person would have no problem turning her in, outing her for the freak that she was...but she had come here not to think of that.

'That' was why she was sitting by herself, in the dingiest and quietest little bar in Dublith, some shithole called the Devil's Nest. Appropriate, wasn't it, that name? No one came here save those who needed to forget, and to be forgotten. The ones the world didn't want anymore. The ones that should have stopped existing a long time ago, or have never existed at all; a woman, she had been, hadn't she? And before that a girl, a soldier, a child, a daughter, a friend and a lover- and an experiment, a monster, a freak.

Chimera.

Give me something stronger, Mr. Bartender, so I will not remember that word.

The door to the bar opened suddenly, and though it had no bell the newcomer was announced quite grandly, so much so that for an instant Martel's hearing- hearing that was not entirely human hearing- made her head hurt. A man was laughing, boisterous and arrogant, and in spite of herself she found she turned to look.

He was a tall fellow, and a stranger, not one of the usuals from the bar- but Dublith was a big city, was it not? And she shouldn't bother herself with another wreck that had come to drink here, but her mind was drifting, she needed something to focus on- why not this? He was well-built, this man, that was apparent beneath the black jacket he was wearing, it was too tight around his shoulders and rolled up to reveal strong forearms with pale skin. Above the collar now, he was a little handsome perhaps, with a bold chin and a large nose and expressive eyebrows that moved as he called out to the bartender, his lips parting to reveal unusually crooked- dare she say sharp- teeth…

"Pour some of your finest, for my friend and I here!" he called, and his voice was as brutish and loud as the rest of him. "We're thirsty from our travels!"

Only then did Martel realize the man had a companion- a woman, she thought, or maybe only a girl-

-no, that wasn't quite right, but why-

-and if the man was pale, she was much, much paler, so white in the dim light she seemed almost to glow, but the impression was sickly instead of ethereal. She wasn't pretty at all, with a wide face, and pointed-looking eyes, a sour and unkind expression framed by unkempt dark hair that- for some reason- looked almost green in the off lighting. She was short, and her own jacket and pants made her look strangely bulky (but not in the right places, no, flat as a board there)not the kind of woman one would pair with the kind of man she stood beside at all...

Martel, in her drunkenness, had a sudden wave of what could only be described as perceptual vertigo. For an instant her brain flip-flopped, and she was convinced that the pale, ugly woman was actually a man, and then the world righted itself again, like an illusion reversed and made clear- no, that person was female, she was sure. She also noticed then that the woman, while otherwise normally dressed, was barefoot. Weird- but who cares? This was the right sort of place for those sorts of people. She was one herself, wasn't she?

"This is so exciting," the sort of-handsome man was saying, and he lay down a stack of bills on the table, close enough to Martel that she could have stretched and snatched them if she really wanted. "Why don't you give a round for the house as well, on me?"

The bar had only one patron in it save the strange couple and Martel herself, and he had covered his face, to sit alone in a corner where it was darkest. What a very generous expense. But despite the bitterness of her thoughts, there was something a little charming about the man, and she raised her own glass to him in thanks. He flashed her a twisted-looking grin in reply before turning back to his companion, and it was a little like having the sun go behind the earth.

"Pull up a seat, sweetheart, this is the finest of Dublith's establishments, I am sure. Quaint, cozy, comfortable…" he patted one of the rough metal stools next to the bar with one broad hand, the one on the side closer to Martel, and she noticed faintly that he had some kind of tattoo, but of what she wasn't sure.

"If I sit on that it will break," said the woman in a spiteful (and surprisingly deep) voice, but Martel saw she was smiling nonetheless. Somehow, that smile opened up her face, and with it her unpleasant features became vaguely attractive, appealing in a harsh and almost obscene way- not a nice smile, and not a pretty one, but something with a degree of allure. Not unlike this pub itself- ugly and depraved and made strange by the lighting, but desirable nonetheless. Martel wondered what the relationship between the two of them could possibly be.

Instead of sitting on the stool, the woman pulled herself up and plopped down on the bar itself, and it was a testimony to the poor workmanship of the place that Martel could hear the wood creak, straining itself to support what couldn't have been more than 130 pounds. The stranger parted her legs- she sat like a boy, there was that sense of confusion again- and the man pinched her thigh, the way pimps would their wares in this area of the city. But Martel didn't think they were like that, not quite.

The bartender, poor fellow, didn't seem to know what to do with himself, so accustomed was he to the silence and depression of his usual guests. Such a rowdy couple could only mean trouble for him in the long run, though they did seem like big spenders. He swung her way the drink purchased by the strangers, and she took it easily, somewhat surprised to find that it smelled of something other than drain cleaner. The finest in the establishment, huh?

"You know, this place is downright charming," said the man, and though there was a touch of sarcasm in his voice there was something genuine, too. He didn't seem to care about the dirt or the grim or the depressed atmosphere, didn't care that his was the only voice that rang out inside its little walls. "An attentive staff, good location, decent booze. What's not to like?"

His companion grinned at him, swinging one leg in a slow and awkward movement that, for some reason, seemed to make the bar shake.

"What, do you want it?" she hissed, her voice low and dark enough to indicate that it was meant for his ears only, though Martel didn't have much trouble listening in. She sipped her drink rather slowly, feeling comfortable in her level of drunkenness, and entertained enough by the pair- they were intriguing somehow, and in a more sober state of mind Martel would have questioned that feeling with all she had, and possibly fled, for intriguing things were usually unwelcome- but she was just lost enough to her cup that she didn't think to consider it. She didn't know, or care, why something prickled inside of her at the sight of them.

"You know, maybe I do," said the man, and he was fondling his companion's leg in a way that was a little obscene, staring at something Martel herself couldn't see. "Why not? I doubt anyone would notice. And I like Dublith, don't you, baby? It seems like a good place to settle down."

And the woman made a funny noise in the back of her throat, something that could only be described as the hybrid beast of a giggle and a cat's purr, and it was only then that Martel felt the danger.

Snakes had a pretty good sense for such things, after all.

The air was much crisper in the cool atmosphere of the bar, more awake. She could feel it rising, feel the weight of it around her even as she felt the tip of her tongue dart out to taste- bloodlust. And something else, too, some weird flavour she hadn't noticed before, something a little like mould and a little like antiseptic, coming from both of them- that was not how humans smelled, that was not what people tasted like, there was something terribly wrong…

The man said something else, Martel didn't quite hear, and in reply the woman threw her head back to expose a perfect white throat and laughed- no, cackled would be a better word for it, like a witch. A hideous sound, it was, distorted and coloured faintly with mania. Martel didn't want to stick around and hear the end of their conversation. She needed to get away- her animal instincts, cold though they were, had raised a remarkable alarm.

She cursed herself as she stumbled getting out of her seat, the noise of her stool hitting the ground and catching at her legs was deafening, if only she hadn't made herself so drunk. She might have been able to get out without drawing so much...attention. Two sets of overbright eyes were on her as she righted herself, and in spite of her best interest she found herself meeting them- remarkably similar, those two suddenly looked, everything else was different but there was a resemblance in the eyes, the colour and shape and depth. But they were barely human- like glass, or polished gemstones, somehow both powerfully expressive and dead, artificial like doll's eyes in a shop window. She wanted to leave, now.

"Oh!" the woman said, her voice coming down from the laughter surprised, even as Martel tried to stumble away, and she could feel those terrible eyes on her still. "That one- she's not- I think- oh, yes!"

"What?" said the man, and his partner (lover? or sister? there was something both too similar, and too different, about the both of them) giggled, girlish and high in the back of her throat.

"The chimera files, dumbass! Did you never read them? I know who she is…"

At the second word in that sentence Martel had found herself running for the door, eyes focused on the worn brass handle of the knob like it would save her, but she had inebriated herself, and she had never been overly fast. Even now, in her animal nature, it was one thing to strike quickly and another to run swiftly away…

A large, warm hand closed over her shoulder, the grip firm and strong, and Martel found herself stopped. Turning her head she met the handsome face of the man, and he seemed so much taller now, the grin under his hooked nose sharp and predatory.

"Excuse me there, miss," he said, and Martel felt strangely both hot and cold all over. "Why don't you sit down, and have a chat?"