Two necromancers and an otter walk into a bar...

Drake and Theron shennanigans in a bar, for 'Drakos, who is currently kicking back in Japan and consequently not here. *sad*

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Theron found he actually enjoyed Drake's company, for all that the man was irritatingly egotistical and flaunted his aura in the tackiest possible manner.

Plaid. Honestly. It almost made him miss being colorblind.

Still, he was fascinating, and charming in his own obnoxious way- Theron didn't trust the planewalker any further than he could throw Brenon, but he was enjoying himself enough to let down his guard slightly. The final result was just the inevitable result of two wills clashing over a very personal subject, and a few too many drinks.

"Mindless, poorly crafted drones are all well and good if it's anarchy you're looking for, but what do you do when you want something more permanent? You need something with a little more autonomy and staying power."

"What's wrong with a little anarchy? Keeps things interesting."

"It doesn't last. And even chaos gets boring after a while. Besides, anarchy does away with all sorts of creature comforts. If the rest of the world is going to descend into disorder, it always helps to have people on hand to tend to your every whim."

"If your anarchy isn't lasting, you're not doing it right. And if it's boring, you're definitely not doing it right. As for creature comforts- I've got perfectly willing, living minions for those. I've found the living are generally better at conversation than the dead. Better diction, you know."

"Until they die, and then you're back to square one. It all goes back to permanence, and creating something that lasts-"

"Steady on, old son. Just because I'm not interested in playing Scrabble with my undead doesn't mean they don't have staying power. We could settle this once and for all- just point the way to the nearest graveyard."

"Are you insane? Do you know how many gods that would piss off?"

"Gods? Please. I nearly orchestrated the destruction of an entire world, single handledly. I'm not afraid of a few backwater deities."

"And I nearly conquered a continent with my army of mindlessly loyal but incredibly intelligent zombies and my godlike control over reality. Oh, wait, now I'm being redundant, seeing as I was a god."

"Was that a threat? Because if you're the sort of deity I'd be pissing off, you're really going to have to do better to deter me."

"Did it sound like a threat?"

"I think it might have."

"I think you might need to get your ears checked."

"What, not going to follow through? Come on, old son, there's nothing to be afraid of. After all, I'm just some- what was that quaint term you used? Arcanist? You're so cute when you're angry, little boy."

"Your endless stream of faux witty comments do nothing to hide the fact that you're a moron."

"Watch what you say, old son. Your heartbeat isn't fooling anyone."

"And your pathetic attempts to control me the way you'd control some flesh dripping half assed excuse for a Corpse are laughable- and when I say that, I mean they tickle. So stop doing that, before I turn your lungs into rock candy."

"Now that was a threat. A little silly and childish- I like candy, after all- but I think you're showing definite improvement. I knew you could do it!"

"Yes, that was a threat. Would you like another one, or should I just start dismembering you now?"

"On a scale of one to ten, I'd give that a six. You still need to work on your menacing glare."

"Do you want me to kill you?"

"Maybe I do!"

"Fine!"

They lunged to their feet at the same time, knocking over chairs. A pair of wickedly sharp knives appeared in Drake's hands; Theron rolled up his sleeves and let magic cloud the air around them, heavy and lemon-scented. They were both grinning fiercely; Theron hadn't had this much fun in ages.

The other bar patrons had gravitated to the far side of the room but were otherwise ignoring the two of them; the bartender gave them a slightly disapproving glance and continued polishing glasses.

Theron decided to make things a little more interesting- the air around him burst into flames. Drake lifted his eyebrows and looked faintly impressed; he gestured and surrounded himself with a myriad of witch globes, humming with power.

The bartender was looking slightly alarmed, and the fire detector in the corner was wailing. Theron reached out to steal away the air around Drake, who was dripping blood in a way that was more menacing than it had any right to be; in half a moment their argument would be definitively over and-

A wall of water swept across their corner of the room, knocking both of them over and extinguishing the flames.

"I leave the room for five fucking minutes and you try to burn down the building! I can't take you anywhere." Drake's "associate"- Finbar, Theron remembered- stood over them with his arms crossed.

Theron looked from the irate teenager to the sodden necromancer and grinned. Drake caught his eye and grinned back.

"The kid's a little uptight; you'll have to forgive him."

"Not a problem." Theron stood carefully and smithed away the water in his clothing. His hair still clung to his skull, dripping insistently down the back of his neck. "Buy you another drink?"

"Sure. But my zombies are still better than yours."

"Whatever." Theron stepped over a puddle on his way to the bar, followed by Drake.

Finbar gave them both a disgusted look, muttered something that sounded a little like, "I give up," and left the building.
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...FATALITY.