"How old are you, anyways?" He asked in annoyance.
Jia smirked. "I am as old as nightmares. From the moment the first human shuddered in it's sleep, I have existed.
My name is Jia, though I am called by many other names...
I am not the boogeygirl- more like, to explain it, dreams release power. The stronger the dream, the more power. The universe needed someone to hold that power, and I was created. I can take all darker power- like fear, lust, anger, dark laughter... I can collect power from anyone I choose. It's easier if I form a link to them- by leaving a mental imprint, or by touching them, though I don't necessarily need to be near them when I actually drain the power after, or during, their night terror. Powerful dark emotions call to me while people are dreaming, and I was created to answer that call, therefore I do.
I only work my realm. I suppose there are other versions of me, but I am the strongest, because I was the first. I suppose my opposite is out there somewhere, collecting all the good energy and storing it. I would think it safe to hazard a guess that we are polar opposites in personality; her being good and all. And I suppose there are lesser versions of her, as there are of me.
Goodness, and good energy, can not harm me, unless it is wielded by one of her.
So, to answer your question: yes, I am older than you. Yes, I am more powerful than you. Even were you to kill me, I would come back as soon as someone in my realm fears the darkness, or is angered by someone, or lusts after a pretty girl. For that is my purpose, and the universe will not allow my death to unbalance the powers."
Jia put on her tophat and left, still smirking, to allow him time alone to handle his thoughts. She would not accept his challenge, for she bore no illwill against him, and fighting him would mean killing him.
Sanya Rosenthorn
Sanya Rosenthorn sauntered into the room, grace and guile apparent in the expression in her dark blue eyes. Dark, as in the depths of the ocean, for both had a dangerous undertow, ready to pull you under when you least expected it. Full lips formed in her trademark half-smile, half-smirk, she scanned the room quickly. A natural sway apparent in her confidant walk, Sanya made her way over to one of the seats littering the area near the bar.
"Excuse me, tender," she nearly purred at the bartender in her throaty, sultry voice, "A white russian, if you will? Light on the cream."
Sliding into the empty bar stool, Sanya leaned her well-developed, curving figure foward, resting her elbows against the counter. When ther ordered drink made it's appearance before her, slender finger carried the liquor to her lips and tipped it up. Sanya did not grimace as the fiery, bitter liquid made it's burning way down her throat. Instead, she smiled at the bartender, white teeth flashing in the dim lighting. "It seems that this one is empty. What else can you offer me?"
Typical Sanya. She valued her freedom above all else, and looked Life right in face. More than anything else, she likes a challenge; an intelligent, strong-willed man.
Riyth and Shkah
- soon to come -
Twig
A slight girl- slight in the way of a fine-boned animal who has lived a life of hand-to-mouth for 15 years- slid through the door, readjusting her beat-up denim backpack full of her belongings. Thin, slightly dirty mouse-brown hair reached just barely past her slim shoulders, and shielded unpierced ears and a small scar above her right jawline. Bow-shaped chapped lips seem to perch on a delicately boned face, centered beneath a small, pert nose. Naturally curved eyebrows shadowed her almond-shaped eyes, eyes the shade of polished oak, and usually just as expressive. No freckles dusted her slightly tanned features, though a small birthmark could be seen right below the collar of her old, thin t-shirt, but only if she leaned over. With no curves at all, and only the slightest hint of a bosom, the young woman's age and wear-softened jeans fit a loosely on her; the jeans looked ready to fall down, though they were tightened by a worn leather belt. Rugged tennis shoes hid small feet capable of silent steps; Twig crept through the establishment, eyes darting around slowly and taking in everything while a nervous smile took hold- she had never been very good at hiding her thoughts or emotions. If anyone had ever cared to describe Twig, they would have compared her to a bird; all delicate bones and quick reactions. She was not mousy, just very cautious, yet with a charisma learned by life on the street.
Taking long, quiet steps through the nearly empty room, Twig pushed her bangs out of the way as they brushed across her eye brows, and placed her bag in the seat next to her at the bar- within easy reach. Having chosen the end seat for a better view of the room- a seemingly natural thing for her- Twig waited for a bartender, and inspected her surroundings.
