Description: Bars and clubs are wonderful places to relieve stress, and none in Southtown are better than the Duck Pond. You can find any manner of person here -- like Brian Battler, resident thug and strong arm. Or Carrol Jayne, non-resident thug and strong arm at the Duck Pond for one specific purpose -- to cause problems for the ex-NFL street fighter. Picking fights, even in a place like the Duck Pond, isn't particularly unusual -- but what exactly is Carrol targetting Brian for, and what could he possibly have in store...?
FRIDAY NIGHT (9:38 PM) - SOUTHTOWN (The Duck Pond)
Dance music throbs through the air, pulsing through patrons as they glide and gyrate across the dance floor inside one of Southtown's busiest clubs, The Duck Pond. Multicolored lights cascade across the faces of happy, laughing people as they express themselves through physical movement, as they yell over the music to their friends, as they get to know the guy or girl they hope to drag home later... or as they carefully avoid the only person not feeling the love in here.. a mountain of a man, sitting at the bar, who is four kinds of out of place. A caucasian in a sea of Japanese, a seven-footer amongst fivers, dirty blonde where all the hair is black, and dour where everyone else is joyous.
Dressed in a black teeshirt that clings to his muscled frame, black slacks and black cowboy boots, the man looms like a black hole at the far corner of the bar, sucking the joy and life out of the air. "God, I hate it here," he grunts, rubbing his temples as he leans against the bar rail. "The music sucks, the kids suck, the lights suck..."
"So, what ARE you doing here, Brian?" the bartender says , sliding yet another glass towards the monumental Texan, which clinks against the twelve empties already sitting in front of the "R" associate. Brian Battler reaches down, taking up the glass and lifting it to his lips.
"Well, for one, you're the only place in the country that stocks Yuengling, and second..." The former NFL linebacker pauses to take a pull from the glass, giving a satisfied "aaah" after he swallows. "...You're the only bartender in town that can make a proper Assassin."
At the entrance to the club, a bouncer asks very kindly for someone to surrender their weapon at the doors. You know, for the safety of the patrons. All it takes is one good, hard shove for this guy to stop caring about his job. Nobody else dares say anything about it. When you're over seven feet tall, a lot of people surrender right of way to you.
It suits him fine. Among the black haired and those who dye their hair bizarre shades and hues, comes a very tall, strong man with white hair and a large object that only the likes of Preston and Serim could compete against. (We're talking about the sledgehammer. Yes.) The smoke that wafts from a cigarette that seems much too small for his mouth takes on interesting colors underneath the various flashing lights of the club.
He doesn't ask people to step aside. He just walks forward until he gets to the bar, and if anyone's in the way... well, they won't be. When you're this big, it's no trifle to get the smaller, shorter people out of the way as he approaches the bar.
There's only one quick glance at a photo. The bartender may already notice the man approaching well before Brian does, but there is no subtlety when the man brings his large, powerful hand down right on the counter next to Brian.
"Say," a deep, rumbling voice manages to pierce the loud music that's polluting the ears and damaging the hearing of everyone present, "ya look like you're awful comfortable, keepin' my seat warm."
The kinds of words Brian has no doubt heard prior from many other men, many of whom were of significantly smaller height but of no smaller size of balls. (Or... smaller of brains?)
Brian is more than well aware of the benefits of being tall, massive and able to make people move. It's how he lives his daily life. People in CARS move when he starts stalking in their general direction. So, as he glances over and sees what could be possibly a younger brother to himself, a small quirk of a smile crosses his face for the first time. Just as he lifts the glass to his lips again, the hand comes crashing down where it once sat. Turning his head to look sidelong at the man who he outsizes only by a bit of muscle mass, he pauses, sizes up, and then pounds the rest of his drink. "Sure thing, brother," he drawls, and, surprisingly, slides off the stool, away from Carrol. Setting the empty glass down, he gestures towards the seat, offering it to the other man graciously, a warm smile crossing his face, though his eyes don't share the same generosity.
Pointing at the bartender, Brian shouts, "Hey, man. Need another." He then turns to Carrol and says, "Oh, and let's get you one as well, brother. What you need?" Returning his eyes to the bartender, he finishes his thought, "Whatever he needs, y'make sure and take care of him, alight?"
Odd behavior for Brian. Rather southern, but not very much like him. Yet.
The other man, only very slightly smaller than the mighty muscular mountain that is Brian, takes to this free seat with a smirk and a shrug. Well, the seat is surely warm. He points at a random bottle on the rack, not so caring as to what's going to go into his own glass as he leans forward on the counter, gigantic sledgehammer following suit as he takes the cigarette out of his mouth and blows a large, obnoxious puff of the toxic stuff to join the toxic noise.
"Good ashtray'd be nice, ya know," he grunts, tapping a finger as though anticipating something. His drink? The ash tray? It's hard to tell, though there is nothing that suggests any sort of politeness for Brian's seemingly selfless act to a fellow brother in being way too big for these people.
He frowns.
"You heard the man," Brian says, motioning towards the bartender. The bartender grabs the bottle that Carrol pointed to... A bright blue bottle marked Hpnotiq... and pours three fingers worth into an old fashioned glass. He slides this, plus a crystal ashtray, towards the second mountain of a man. He quickly gathers the empties on the counter and sets them aside before mixing another Assassin for Brian. He's moving carefully and deliberately, making no sudden moves but being exceedingly efficient. He knows how Brian can be when angry. Two men this size are going to be significant amounts of trouble if they start something. And by the way they're acting, something is going to happen. After setting the drink in front of the Texan, he starts to put the glasses into the dishwasher... and preparing to duck and cover should the worst come to pass.
Meanwhile, Brian is still being magnanimous. "Thank you," he says as both Carrol's and his drinks are brought. As soon as he has his booze in his hand, he turns to Carrol, smile still warm. "Ain't every day that I see a man my size around. What brings you in today, mister?" His kindness is a facade, however. Right now, he's deciding where he can hit the stool to make the other man crash to the floor, calculating how far he can kick that sledgehammer away and where this man's weak points likely are. Probably lower back, knees and wrists, given the sledgehammer. "There are plenty of other stools 'round here, too. What made ya decide to uproot me from mine?"
Something with a fruity and tropical taste. Not his first choice, but, as this man has come to know, alcohol is alcohol no matter what sorts of other garbage they dress it up with. This is a man with either an unrefined taste in alcohol... or is simply so uncaring that he will take just about any goddamned thing that promises alcohol. Perhaps, not exactly a man of class.
It should be noted the cigarette is not being moved towards the ashtray.
"Cheers," he raises the glass and decides to just stomach the hit to one's manliness while Brian addresses him. There's a look of disgust on his face when Brian just has to ask the question as to why he had to take his stool. Why, indeed, would a man want to take a stool already occupied when there's plenty else around there?
"Why the hell else? C'mon." Says this large man. "You're Brian mother-fuckin' Battler, but right now, you're more... Brian Butler, ha ha!" He reaches out with an arm as if to make a friendly slap on his shoulder. "I mean, ya can put two and two together, right? Right?"
He snorts. "What's a man gotta do to get you to rouse you up and hit me with a stool, huh?"
Aaah. Hardly a surprise. Brian knew this was the plan, but sometimes, drawing a foe off-guard means they expose themselves to weakness.
The bartender squeaks quietly, pressing a panic button under the bar and quietly exiting to the back room. The door to which he then closes. And locks. And bars.
"Ah," Brian says, looking down at his beverage before drinking a bit of it. There's still plenty in his glass, and Brian is well known for disliking the idea of wasting alcohol. "Well, I'm mighty glad y'know who I am, friend. You'd be surprised how many people don't have anything resembling a clue about it." He takes another drink from the glass, contemplating it for a long moment. "Well, y'know, if you really wanted to fight, you coulda gone ahead and contacted my manager. I'm sure he'd love to set up an NL fight, get the cameras on the ol' show pony and rake in a decent paycheck for the three of us. But, well, I suppose that's out of the question now."
And with that, Brian Battler takes another drink... and while doing it, rockets his arm around to try and take the other man's head clean off with a lariat. And if not his head, certainly he can be sure that his stool will be revacated here in a moment.
COMBATSYS: Brian has started a fight here.
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Brian 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Carrol has joined the fight here.
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Brian 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Carrol
COMBATSYS: Carrol endures Brian's Medium Punch.
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Brian 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Carrol
"Oh, I know plenty already, Butler." This man decides this name is clever enough to keep with. Insulting as it is, if Brian will be so accommodating, hell, that'll be his nickname at this rate. It's got a good ring to it. Almost got as good a ring as this cigarette still has flavor to it, removing it from his mouth and exhaling another big puff of smoke at about the same time Brian shows a little regret over how they haven't set it up for the Neo League or what have you.
At which point Brian punches him in the head. He doesn't flinch, the stool doesn't break, nothing seems to even, in fact, go anywhere. Does this man even notice the strength of Brian's meaty fist, a fist that could very likely fell even steel in a single blow?
"Thanks for the ashtray," is all he says as he takes the cigarette butt out of his mouth and decides to try and shove it into Brian's forehead instead of the... actual ashtray, "you wanna start punching already?"
COMBATSYS: Brian endures Carrol's Small Random Weapon.
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Brian 0/-------/------=|=------\-------\0 Carrol
And a cigarette is put out between Brian's eyes. The skin blisters, but Brian does not waver, still finishing his drink as pain that would make a lesser man scream doesn't even seem to elicit a reaction. As the last of the contents of his glass cascade down his gullet, the Texan shrugs. "I was thinkin' about it, but, y'know, drinkin'," he drawls, tossing the glass casually over his shoulder. The glass hits the ground and shatters just as the DJ pulls the record off the turntable, having seen the first punch land and knowing that it's a good time for people to vacate. The lights go up, the multicolored beams giving way to the brighter, harsher light of the fluorescent bulb, and people quickly begin to get ushered out. Upon this backdrop does the battle actually begin.
From the casual shrug after tossing the glass, Brian's hands erupt in a trail of Cowboys blue and silver, following a fine arc as they ball together in a hammer fist. He spins, quickly drawing a bead towards Carrol's head, the giant meaty mallets now hoping to remove all definition from the other man's face.
COMBATSYS: Carrol Toughs Out Brian's Brian Hammer!
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Brian 0/-------/----===|====---\-------\0 Carrol
"Ahh, drinkin'." Carrol concurs as he lets the used cigarette drop wherever. Its goodness has been depleted and is no longer of use. The DJ, however, stops. There's a sudden silence to the music, with the murmuring of the crowds. Something about everyone suddenly being afraid just makes him frown.
"What?! Thought you loved watchin' us shed blood, huh?" He snaps, picking up his sledgehammer as Brian brings his two meaty hands on his head, but alas - it's too late, getting nary much feedback other than a manly nod and a lingering pain in his neck and scalp that'll only grow when the adrenaline wears off.
"PUT SOME FUCKING METAL ON!" He shouts his demand to pretty much nobody in particular, spots in his vision from the Dallas Cowboys-colored lights to his face as he steps forth with a heavy two-handed swing over to Brian's gut. This description, simple as it is, understates what sort of force he can put behind it.
Especially now he's good and incensed. "I SAID SOMEONE TURN ON THE GODDAMN MUSIC!"
COMBATSYS: Brian endures Carrol's Murdertrain a Comin'.
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Brian 0/-------/-======|=====--\-------\0 Carrol
From the DJ booth comes a weak, stuttery but clear, "H-h-hai!" A few moments later, Carrol gets just what he asked for, as the DJ puts on some 1980's Van Halen and scurries away from the booth and bolts out the door. Moments after the door closes, the two massive men are fighting to "Hot for Teacher."
As Brian's hands hit home, he is almost taken aback by the fact that he didn't really elicit a reaction out of the man. I mean, he's hit people like Heinlein and not gotten no-sold like that. Reminds him more of his days at the University of Texas, when he was getting owned by senior offensive linemen. He grunts in dissatisfaction, his momentary reverie being enough for Carrol to swing at his midsection. It connects, and the force of the blow makes the Texan take a few steps back. Casually, he dusts off his chest and nods appreciatively. "Nice," he says, straightening himself out. "I can see why you wanted to come and fight me. Kinda nice to see someone want to go blow to blow for once. Shame you gotta use a weapon like a fag, but, hey, to each their own."
Just make a mistake, big man. Texas wants to show you what's what.
With a speed that belies his size, Brian suddenly slides forward, dropping low as he aims his shoulder and upper arm for Carrol's knees, hoping that he might fold them backwards and end the fight here, but merely expecting that he might just take the other mountain of a man down.
COMBATSYS: Carrol endures Brian's Rocket Tackle.
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Brian 0/-------/=======|=======\-------\1 Carrol
"Just nice?!" Carrol yells back over the music. "That was more than nice! That was nasty! There ain't nothing nice about what I did!" You don't swing a hammer around nicely, you swing it around brutally, with the intent to break into little tiny husks of bruised meat and shattered bone, but holy hell, Brian shows he can go toe to toe with this - something just as entertaining as it is outright frustrating.
"A true guy's gotta take pride in his fucking tools!" So Carrol retorts to Brian's dismissal of his weapon - but there is no dismissing what Brian can bring to bear with just his body and plenty of recklessness, moving low enough to plow Carrol at the knees.
It's more like pushing him along. A stool goes flying. Some garbage and even a bit of the floor flies away in the wake of Brian's hardcore tackle - even as Carrol stands tall while his backside gets introduced to things that would hardly be comfortable for anyone to take unannounced. Hell, the back of his head even clips a restroom sign, that's not pleasant at all.
bringing up his elbow to space himself just a ways back for room to swing, he brings the sledgehammer down upon the floor with enough force that enough people around him might even lose their footing - to say nothing of the white chi that explodes through the ground en-route to Brian's own feet.
"Call that nice, I dare ya!" Says Carrol. He dares. He so dares.
COMBATSYS: Carrol successfully hits Brian with Burn the Earth.
- Power hit! -
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Brian 1/-----==/=======|=======\=------\1 Carrol
Well, shit, this guy's not going down. It's pretty damn impressive. Like pushing sleds, this guy. It's almost disappointing... if not for the fact that Brian thinks that he, finally, might have met his match. Hell, he isn't even getting ANGRY really. Frustrated, irritated, but not angry. Seeing someone who is more of a bulwark than you, when you're ten tons of stone? That says a lot.
Says enough that, despite all the stuff that's going on, a little reminder from the boss seems to pop into his head. Hm. Perhaps this guy might be interested in a job.
"Yeah, pal, that was nas-" And there's the swing. And an ensuing explosion. Brian is no longer standing, no, he's actually airborn, the first of the two of them to lose his hold on Terra Firma and take to the skies. Several feet away he lands roughly, rolling backwards to quickly regain an upright posture. "Gee-ZUS, son. You got the power of a two ton frieght train and hit like a demon posessed. I gotta hand it to ya, you're certainly the strongest sombitch I've ever had the pleasure of beating my fist against."
Shaking his head in disbelief, Brian comes at Carrol again, attempting to gain hold of the haft of his sledgehammer. He knows the man will not let go of the weapon easily, so it's not an attempt to disarm. If he gets his hands on it, he'll try and twist the other giant up in his own arms, then lift him off his feet to slam his metal-loving ass into the oh-so-warm stool and collapse it.
COMBATSYS: Carrol endures Brian's Samurai Bomb.
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Brian 1/----===/=======|=======\======-\1 Carrol
Well, hell, Carrol thinks, this guy's not on his feet any longer. He has a pretty good idea of what Brian's capable of, and so far - between the two of them - it seems Brian's giving way a bit more easily than he first truly suspects. He exhales loudly after that last little outburst of his own strength. Brian is pushing him, make no mistake. Can't fault him for that. This is Brian. That says a lot.
Despite all the stuff that's going on, a little reminder from the boss seems to come to mind. Hm. Right, this guy is worth something.
"I'll take a moment from beatin' you to paste to say... yeah, I'd, I'd put ya up there TURN IT UP I CAN HEAR MYSELF TALK AND THAT'S TOO QUIET!!"
They'd better correct this post haste.
This moment of distraction costs him, just about, as Brian gets a hold of the shaft. There's a little tug of war for the moment. "Y'think you can do better with this, Butler?" He taunts.
Brian makes him eat those words, twisting him around to grasp him, lift him up, and... well, let's say stools become less of an easily mitigated factor when you don't have solid traction. The collapsed stool does more than collapse, it effectively explodes into many tiny, sharp, deadly little wooden splinters that he's sure aren't just piercing through his tank top. There's blood. There's definitely blood.
"Not good enough!" He growls. Technically, he's in a horrible position. He lies prone, Brian standing atop of him, almost entirely at his mercy. His knuckles turn whiter as he grasps the shaft, figuring where he is doesn't even really matter. When you mined for a living, sometimes, you just have to mine in directions that are deadly or uncomfortable.
He'll mine up all right, deciding to work with where he's at rather than sit and soak in the pain, a loud shout that - at this point - should damn well be drowned out by the music as he swings the sledgehammer upwards into a kneel with such strength that it carries him forwards a ways, so powerful that the air rushes out around the swing in its upwards momentum.
If Brian is fated to be struck, let one hope it is in the chin and not a far less preferred place for any man to be struck.
COMBATSYS: Carrol successfully hits Brian with Crush My Battle Opponent's Balls.
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Brian 1/-======/=======|====---\-------\0 Carrol
This is not fun. This is not happy. This is a pain in the ass... well, balls, really. Brian is lifted bodily off the ground, and he lands, on his feet, a few yards away. There, he stays for a few breaths before his knees finally buckle and he drops onto the floor like a sack of rocks, twitching slightly. He does, however, manage to do all this without a grunt or a squeak. Here, for a few seconds, he stays, a twitching heap of pain.
Then, things change.
His right hand extends, slamming into the ground like a mechanical stabilizer. His left hand follows suit moments after. Right foot. Left foot. Like a robot, the enormous Texan raises himself to a fifty percent extension, head slowly raising to lock his gaze on his massive foe. For a brief moment, Brian's eyes seem to crackle with Dallas silver and blue. He leans back, backside raising as he chambers himself to attack. Ready. Aim. FIRE.
Bursting out of the gate like a greyhound, Brian charges at Carrol with the intensity of a man posessed. Before colliding with the miner, though, Brian's right arm and shoulder become sheathed in flickering blue and silver chi as he swings it up and under Carrol, hoping to liberate his feet from his shoes should he send him airborne as planned. Four steps past the other man, however, Brian slides to a stop, reverses and takes another pass, crashing in towards his target a second, a third, a fourth time before his fifth pass... Which, should his quarry be taken in by, will involve the same pop-up maneuver, followed quickly by Brian himself taking to the air, slamming a fist into the Californian to spike him to the ground... and then a 335lb Texan falling out of the sky and planting the top of his head into the small of Carrol's spine. He'd targeted it earlier. Might as well see if it's weak like he thinks it might be.
COMBATSYS: Carrol endures Brian's Big Bang Blitzkrieg.
*KNOCKED AWAY*
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Brian 0/-------/-----==|=======\====---\1 Carrol
There isn't anything approaching an apology or remorse for, largely, getting Brian in the balls as the mighty sledgehammer-wielding Carrol has plenty of tiring carols to sing - well, heave - as he lets it hit the floor, slightly doubled over in an attempt to catch his breath in the little amount of time he has before Brian comes back at him in spades. Needless to say, there is really no time to catch any breath, other than show the sign of fatigue which is... maybe what Brian will be capitalizing on.
He feels the strength coursing through Brian when that hand slams into the ground, and Carrol steels himself as he rises again, teeth bared - with every reason to take what Brian is doing seriously. Gazes are met - Dallas silver and blue, to... well, Carrol can claim no particular allegiance to any football team.
Just as Brian makes the first pass, Carrol slams the hammer's head down to ground himself as Brian makes his first pass-by. He holds his ground, with a cost - Brian takes a lot of the wind out of him. The second pass, a strike to his back, sees him stumbling forward a little... but he stays on the ground. The third, he falls to a crouch, staggering. If he were a saner man he'd have called it quits on number three.
Number four stands him right back up with a sickening crack, where Brian has almost definitely broken something. He's moving entirely on sheer grit, as though thinking... maybe, just maybe...
There's no time for thinking at all when Brian makes that final fifth, he can't hold his footing any more. Brian shoves him into the air, and nails him in the back of his head hard enough to kill a lesser man instantly, absorbing the shock with his knees as he falls into the crouch.
The true victim is the floor near the bar counter. The impact sends Carrol at least a good three or four inches in deep, and his eyes squeeze shut when Brian brings his head into his back hard enough that he bangs his own head on the shaft of the sledgehammer he uses for support.
It's quite a sight. Being partially embedded into the ground makes it harder to pull his legs out, but Carrol shoots Brian a look at the end of all that.
"Yeah, that... that shit," he says as he pulls himself up out of his kneeling crater, suddenly hurling his entire body weight into Brian, "that shit is NASTY!"
If he can bowl Brian over with, admittedly, far less gusto and show than Brian himself just displayed, he brings the hammer up in both hands. His arms shake from sheer fatigue and his swimming consciousness. With this amount of wear, he doesn't think he can just swing it full hog into Brian's head.
He'd just do with stabbing the shaft down into Brian and leave it at that, if Brian lets him, but he's had it, he's done, his body doesn't want to swing that thing around any more, and he's about done with being swung around by Brian.
Maybe a mutual agreement can be made here.
COMBATSYS: Carrol can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\ <
Brian 0/-------/-----==|
COMBATSYS: Brian Toughs Out Carrol's Go Forth and Die!
[ \ <
Brian 0/-------/=======|
Brian lands, rolls off and out of the crater, then cracks his neck. It's loud enough that the few patrons left, huddling out of the way of the chaos, think that someone's limb has been broken. The cries of sympathetic pain ring out just as Eddie Van Halen starts another solo.
Bruised, blackened and burned, Brian is about as done with this fight as he can get. He'd walk out right now, but there's the possibility that this hammer might find it's way into his spine, which would be a bad thing. So, instead, he squares off and prepares to meet the onslaught he knows is coming. And when it comes, Brian is ready; Carrol's charge is met with merely with palms to the chest, which stop it dead in the water. The swing, however, still comes crashing into the Texan's head, the haft hitting the very top of Brian's head dead center, cracking under pressure. Eyes slightly glazing over but still unwavering in his stance, the former linebacker looks through the miner with a stern expression. "Did you get what you came here for, partner?" he says, jaw solid. "I certainly hope so, because I think we're both done with this."
Reaching up, he slides the hammer off his head, then takes a few steps back, each step gaining a tremble that begins to show how much damage he's taken. Turning around finally, he takes two more steps before dropping to one knee, held vertical only his grip on the bar's rail.
Oogh. Now comes the fight to stay conscious.
COMBATSYS: Brian takes no action.
COMBATSYS: Brian can no longer fight.
"Burgh." That's more a grunt than any actual vocabulary as Carrol rolls to his side after that final strike. Brian's little push of the hammer sees him on his side with something like a wince as he uses it as a crutch to stand back up with Brian's little question - did he get what he came here for?
"Hah... hah... yeah, we're, we're... we're done that part," he says as he raises up a hand. "Name's Carrol, Carrol Jayne," he wheezes that out. "And let me tell you... you, you look like a guy just... done having to deal with all those people 'round you, right? Small... petty. Easy to crush, but, but you just have troubles getting ahead even with how strong you are... right?"
Finally fighting his way to a stand, injured as he is, he limps a step over to Brian to put a hand on his shoulder. "I didn't just, just come here to rile you up, Battler," he catches himself from making the playful nickname, "I'm here to give you a hand. Whaddaya say?"
In through the nose, out through the mouth. Push the pain out. Eyes, focus. One thing first. Hand. Okay, now beyond the hand. Keep breathing. Okay, yes, now don't fight the rocking. Ride it. Yes.
As Brian once again becomes aware of his surroundings and can start to get a grip on what's going on around him, he turns his head to listen as Carrol begins to speak, to explain and to say exactly what's been on his mind since he left high school. He starts to nod, wordlessly, not even realizing he's doing it as the words seem to drip from his subconscious and form into reality in Carrol Jayne's voice. "Yeah," he finally says in response to the first questions, slowly pulling himself to his feet. By the time Mr. Jayne comes and puts his hand on his shoulder, Brian has mostly erected himself again. He leans against the bar, steadying himself with a hand on the counter as a proposition comes forth. Help? A hand?
Brian's slightly burnt eyebrows tweak a bit as he looks Carrol in the eye. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jayne. Should've gotten that out to start," he says, taking a deep, rattling breath. "What kinda hand are we talkin' here, partner? I'm interested, but I'd like details."
"Ahh, hell, doesn't matter what order we would've done it in, 'cause... 'cause we'd have wanted to slug one another anyway," Carrol snorts. Ain't that the truth. He could go for a new smoke, but, between having a hand on Brian's shoulder and a hammer in the other hand as something of a crutch, it looks like it'll have to wait.
"I'll tell ya all about it," he snorts, "in a place we can actually hear one another talk," he guffaws. The music is loud and metal and all, but now is the time for a place where the only sound will be the ringing in his ears and a couple other voices.
"Don't need these /little/ people hearing any of it," he sneers to those few that might still be around, willing to help walk Brian to the exit, "because let me tell you, Brian, they aren't worth the god damned time of day. They just aren't."
Slowly, Brian straightens himself out. He's in no shape to fight, but he can probably walk. Slightly stumbly, but that's the way fights tend to end anyway. "Alright, let's get the fuck outta here, because I think y'earned me hearin' ya out," he says, slowly shuffling towards the door. He pauses at the coathooks by the door, pulling the lone peacoat off a rack and putting it on. He opens the door, holding it for the other man as he fishes in his pockets for something... Aha. Pulling a package of Marlboros from the coat, he flicks the case open and pulls a pair of cigarettes out, slipping one between his teeth and offering the other to the larger man. "If you put this one out on me, son, I'll fit your hammer into your colon the hard way. Just so y'know."
Log created on 19:00:19 02/08/2011 by Brian, and last modified on 22:14:40 02/12/2011.