exsiliumlogs | [OPEN] Are there some aces up your sleeve? Have you no idea that you're in deep?

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[OPEN] Are there some aces up your sleeve? Have you no idea that you're in deep?

Date & Time: 8/ 5
Location: a less than reputable local-run bar
Characters: Chloe Frazer and YOU POSSIBLY
Summary: Chloe's Exsilium birthday! One year spent in this place means it's a good time to get into a fight or two, right?
Warnings: Punching. So much punching.

Easy, big guy. Trust me, it's all just a misunderstand-- [Chloe clips her attempt at diplomacy short: opting for the more appealing route of keeping her head fixed firmly on her shoulders as she flattens herself-- palms pressed against the wood of an old, barely standing bar table and what scattered playing cards are left in unorganized heaps along its beer-soaked surface-- just as a glass bottle whizzes right past the top of her forehead to catch (and shatter) on the edge of the booth behind.] --ing.

[There's a pause. A beat for the bar's patrons to play a game of connect the dots where point A is Chloe Frazer, point B is a somewhat average game of cards and point C is a volatile meltdown resulting in one of the larger local sorts hurling insults and glass at a notoriously disreputable conwoman. Clearly she's the innocent party.] Or not.

[And from there on out, the booth and table are abandoned; barrier set aside in favor of mobility. Or more accurately, in favor of an all out brawl. Something Chloe's capable of holding all on her own, of course, but there's the matter of closed spaces and less than friendly faces and really, it's the right thing to do to lend a hand to a girl in need, isn't it? Come on. Chivalry can't be as dead as they say it is.

Besides, all things considered, it's technically her birthday.]

[ooc: Feel free to jump in and lend a hand or prod at her once she's bashed a few skulls and is cleaning up the mess, much to the dismay and disapproval of the locals! In fact, everything she does is just in poor taste. You should probably stay far, far away.]

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[Receiving a note that Chloe's off playing (which isn't the proper word for it at all - not when she's usually fair to good at it) at card shark isn't terribly surprising news, though it's the sort Charlie finds himself strangely pleased to get wind of. If she wants to run a few easy scams and call him round to spectate, he's not going to complain. Doubly so if it means he has an excuse to mull everything over a pint.

What he doesn't expect is to shoulder his way through the door of the grimy bar and find himself on the edge of an all out brawl. It's all flying fists and broken bottles, an unholy racket of clattering furniture. Charlie can just make her out over the press of stranger's shoulders, scrapping along with her fists (and teeth probably; likely a few knees to groins and a boot or two where boots definitely don't belong).

Charlie pauses a moment, yet to be swept up by the turmoil. It'd be easy to step out, let her do whatever she likes, and wait for her to either be thrown out on her ass or run everyone into the ground. Instead Charlie takes a moment to push his sleeves up before he cold clocks the nearest bloke with a vaguely threatening expression and wades out into the fray in her direction.]

This doesn't look much like cards!

No? [She might not be saying it, but yeah, all right, seeing him turn up when she's ankle-deep in it is a change of luck she'll gladly accept. When she's done returning the favor of a solid jab to the chin (sending the poor bastard to her right stumbling off against the bar) Charlie wins himself the brief flash of one very lopsided grin.]

Shit, what've I been playing all these years.

[Christ. That flash of her grin makes his widen sharply, ducking as someone takes a swing at him--] Someone's going to have to teach you how to do it properly. [--and popping back up to land a blow to the same bastard's ear, setting the man reeling. It's a cheap shot, but bars are made for them.]

We'll schedule a few lessons later, professor. [The gap between them's closed, easily, and Chloe takes the opportunity to drop her weight, shift the angle of her stance, and put down the brute Charlie's just done in with a perfectly precise kick to his knee.

Just a little insurance that he'll stay down for the count.

--not to mention being closer to the ground, out of sight and well below the fisty-regions of the crowd, sets Charlie up as the main target instead (after all, one massive, well-trained thug is a much more immediate threat) which means she's free to double back over towards the table, and all those eagerly abandoned marques...]

[And honestly, he's not against playing the distraction: throws his weight into it with fervor as he jabs and swings, catches one of the men by the collar and swings him into two more. The momentum puts him off his footing and, straightening, he catches a blow to the face to make up for it.

The poor bastard to throw the punch gets put into a headlock and steered into the nearest table with enough force that Charlie doesn't expect him to get up again. He rounds with a snarl, blood up, and is pleased as punch to see the hesitant look in the face of the nearest target.

Bless, he's missed a proper fight.]

[Sorry, Charlie. The pub-goers in this world just don't stack up against the Pelican's thicker skinned thugs.

She's near the entrance by the time the clattering goes quiet, wrist-deep in a bystander's pocket and thanking Christ that she is-- without a doubt-- deft enough to slip her hand right back out without tipping him off. Looks like they're done here.

Charlie gets one small, deliberately visible hand signal through the cracks in the crowd as she ducks out the front door: settling the damages isn't an appealing end to an unexpectedly (only) half-botched night.]

[It's still a fun go while it lasts. He throws a few more punches even after he's caught sight of her hand signal - as much simply for the pleasure for it as it is a way to work his way toward the door. As a last hurrah, he cheerfully breaks a bottle across someone's shoulder, shoves another bloke across his trail to cover his exit, and then ducks out onto the street after her.

She's likely well ahead by the time he fully extricates himself. Dusting off his hands, Charlie falls into an easy lope to make up for lost ground. When he reaches her, he's breathless and grinning despite the mark rapidly darkening near his eye.]

How'd we make out then?

Not bad. Better if you could've pulled a few of those punches, cowboy. [Which is a joke despite any amount of truth in it; his earnest, toothy smirk makes up for the difference in marques. That and his lovely new shiner.

Chloe slows her stride, digs through her coat pockets to proudly display a moderately hefty payoff.] Ta-da.

[He huffs out a low noise, mostly laugh, and scuffs his knuckles across the tender part of his face.] Never in life. [Charlie hooks his arm easily round hers, turning his hand to thumb through the marques in her open palm.]

Not bad, darling. I'm thinking 60/40?

In my favor? Yeah. [Chloe curls her fingers up around them, effectively locking him out before she slows her stride to a halt; they're far enough out that any limping, punched-up stragglers won't find them and possibly make an attempt at round two.]

And seriously darling, you can't expect me to believe you never rigged a match or two back in the day.

Eeeeh... [He makes a vague, wobbly hand motion. Look, he's not saying one way or another here - and he's certainly not admitting to anything. Honestly, Chloe. He's a professional. A sportsman even.]

It'd ruin the mystery if I were to cop to anything.

Edited 2013-08-13 07:10 (UTC)

[Johnny is usually the guy starting the bar fights, but lately, he's been a good boy. Mostly because most of the bars in town won't even let him in anymore, due to his obvious looks as a Transport, and the fact that he's trashed half of them already.

Also, the training he's been getting from Coby has made him so much stronger lately, that he was legitimately concerned about turning an old fashioned fun bar brawl into a murder scene.

Now the one night, in the one bar that actually let him in, a fight has to start. He was sitting alone in the corner, hood of his jacket up so hopefully the less-tolerant wouldn't have noticed him. Just having a quiet beer after unwinding after training, then some pricks had to gang up on a lady. Nope, not standing for that.

A white hand suddenly reaches out and grabs the back of the head of one of the brawlers near Chloe, and suddenly the man is shoved face-first through the table as it shatters from the impact. Johnny simply drops him and peers at the rest of them from under his hood.]

Anyone else?

[He shoots a glance to Chloe. Your move, lady.]

[Tess has been nursing a drink outside the bar, preferring a breath of fresh air compared to the stuffy, overrun nature that local bars usually prefer. It's just enough to get her head clear, but maybe halfway through the beer she hears the crash of glass, looks over her shoulder through the open doorway. She waits a few minutes, wondering if the trouble is really worth getting into a fight.

Turns out it is, which is why she leaves her beer by the door and moves in casually. It's when she spots someone waiting for his go that she taps him on the shoulder. It's how she sucker punches him, and throws herself into it.

Somewhere in the struggle she stumbles back to regain her footing, looks over in Chloe's direction.] Hope this isn't a private party.

If you had any mystery left, I wouldn't dare steal it from you. [Said with as much sarcasm as possible without sounding completely overblown. Honestly, Charlie. She knows your diary like the back of her hand.

Or the dash of her van. Either one.]

But thanks for the help. Made my job that much easier.

[That's just rude, Chloe. Let a man have his delusions of grandeur, would you? He elbows her gently in the side, withdrawing his arm from hers. For all his bluster, Charlie's still grinning - the cant of his shoulders easy, limbs loose.]

Well you're welcome. I do what I can.

Nice to know you've still got it in you, at least. [There's an abandoned bus stop bench just a few paces off: fractured plexiglass shell with a few crooked seats left mostly intact. Chloe slips past him to steal herself a spot along the far end.]

C'mere, cowboy.

[Charlie sniffs, low and dismissive. Of course he's still got it in him; rusty, maybe, but do this shit long enough and it's second nature. Easier than riding a bike.

--(He wouldn't know much about riding bicycles though; don't ask him to pedal aboutone Chloe. Anything but that.)--

Ambling after her, he slides in under the shelter and out of the perpetual drizzle. He takes the opportunity to sit beside her, prodding at his tender cheek. He'll have a shiner come tomorrow for sure, though he finds he doesn't really mind.] Suppose it's a long walk back to your lakeside resort in this sort've weather. [It does sort of look like it might be taking a turn for the worst (as much as it ever does) - actual rain maybe and not just sad spitting.]

Mmm. [Chloe pulls her knees to her chest, tucking her chin against the top of them. There's hardly enough room for it, but her heels catch and hold against the hard plastic rim, so as long as she doesn't mind a little tightness in her calves it'll work just fine.

It is. And she's hardly looking forward to it, despite the coziness of both Koltira's hard work and company.] Getting a little tired of it, to tell you the truth.

[Her legs tucked up affords him room to stretch his own at an angle, shoulder jammed against the plexiglass siding of the shelter.] Invest in a decent umbrella yet? [Which is a joke - mostly. Charlie cuffs her lightly on the shoulder with his knuckles, threatening the hold of her heels on the edge of the bench.]

You know there's plenty of real estate in the city. So long as you don't go round punching and cheating your landlord at cards, you might be able to find some native willing to let you a flat. [He knows she's not terribly keen on the Initiative, but that doesn't mean she's got to sequester herself out in a bloody wasteland.]

[the sound of fractured wood catches her attention while she's busy wrestling with one of the thicker brutes, and it's not until she lands a solid punch under her opponent's ribcage (sending him down stumbling, clutching at his side in pain) that she has a chance to glance over in the direction of that unexpected distraction.

And she spots the table-- the wreckage-- and some poor bloodied sod curled up in the middle of it, someone mostly (possibly?) human looming just a foot or so off, staring presumably in her direction from under the shadow of his hood.

Jesus Christ, she's going to die.]

No, mate. No, I think I'm good... [Or she was, at least, before backing cautiously away from Johnny leads her right into the thug she'd nearly decked moments ago and he decides to grab for her arm in an attempt to start up round two. Right, well, so long as she doesn't pick a fight with the newcomer, she supposes she's got a shot at getting out of this in one piece.]

[She's a bit preoccupied with the skirmish when Tess cuts in, hands full with a pair of cocky twenty-somethings that she's doing her best to keep from backing her into the nearest corner.]

By all means, [they're not toting about rifles; it's hardly a life threatening scenario so much as it is a happy accident, but spotting a familiar face amongst the crowd is a welcome stroke of luck, and Chloe's more than happy to share the load. There's only a slight pause as a particularly swift right hook grazes the side of her jaw. Oof.] --help yourself.

No, but your jacket ought to do the trick. [They hold-- barely-- but Chloe doesn't do much aside from shift back into whatever centimeter of unused space is left, turning from chin to cheek so she can glance over in his direction with an easy smile.]

Yeah. I could.

[But she doesn't seem focused on the idea-- or the topic, for that matter, and after a few quiet moments spent soaking up the sound of the increasingly intense downpour, she offers up an explanation as to why.] Year to the day, by the way.

[The guy who got smashed through the table is out cold, and the few other men around it had frozen for a moment to take in what just happened. But as soon as the guy makes a move for Chloe, the others leap at Johnny. He grins wickedly. Guess they didn't learn their lesson. Johnny's always been fast, and he manages to dodge one of them while the other practically jumps on top of him. They hit the floor, but a moment later, that guy is tossed at a wall, where he cracks the drywall and hits the floor with a yell. Ignoring the other guy for now, he turns to see how Chloe is handling her foe, and if she need help.]

[He doesn't connect it at first - year to the day of what? - and frowns slightly as he comes up blank. His head's cocked and then he shifts slightly. Ah. He doesn't know the exact date she got pulled here, but he does know it was before him. If they're counting anniversaries, that's the closest one he can peg.

Leaned against the plexiglass, Charlie crosses his arms absently over his chest. He presses his fingers against his sides, jacket (still ripped at the sleeve) cool and clammy from the humidity and rain. A year's a long time.]

Keep that up and the Initiative'll give you a prize. You've got to be in some kind of top percentile, right?

[She's had worse, honestly. A pack of pub-dwellers without pistols is a bloody vacation compared to the usual sort she tangles with on a regular basis. Once he's done sorting his mess, she's done with hers, but instead of a 'thanks' for the assistance he's offered, Chloe's still far too spooked by the wreckage he's left behind-- not to mention his less than natural appearance-- to even consider coming close.]

Easy, easy. I swear I had nothing to do with this; sore losers, the lot of them. [Lie, and truth, respectively.]

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[OPEN] Are there some aces up your sleeve? Have you no idea that you're in deep?

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ohh lord

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Sorry for the delay! I was on vacation :')

I think you mean 'oh hell yes' c:

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np!

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