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Date & Time: RIGHT NOW evening ok
Location: A BAR
Characters: flynn, chloe and koltira???
Summary: flynn is drinking, people hate him
Warnings: face punching

The setup is pretty basic - Flynn, out for a few with Chloe, already pretty far gone. There are no deep thoughts going on here. That might be because he's already more than slightly tipsy at this point. They're both seated at the bar, and Flynn's been trading off job talk with Chloe and hitting on the bartender - your guess whether she's actually into it or humoring him for tips.

But as of now, he's showing his netbook to Chloe, some recent communications pulled up-

"I swear to you, he was actually typing with his gauntlets on."

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There's an easy grin on her face-- half because Flynn's so out of it, half because the responses he's managed to pry out of the network with a handful of rocks and some screenshots from a film half the people here have never even seen are just beyond hilarious. It's only when she spots the glint of polished metal not too far off behind Flynn's shoulder when that smile fades off on the rim of her glass, using the motion to feign a sudden lack of interest in the topic at hand, and a new found love of her half-downed beer. It should also be something of a signal to Flynn...you know, if he weren't so drunk that reading his own tablet is a feat in and of itself, much less a few discreet gestures of 'abort mission'.

Sorry Harry, she tried.

Having so recently fought off hordes of monsters, undead and otherwise, Koltira is still in his full armor when he enters the bar that night. He's uncomfortable at first, as he stands out far too well even while in his civilian clothes, but that feeling abruptly gives way to anger when he hears Flynn's smug voice not three feet in front of him. Koltira's long ears twitch as the sound becomes meaning in his ears: Flynn mocks him. Again.

Scowling, Koltira marches past the other patrons, his eyes flaring, until he's standing directly behind where Flynn and Chloe sit. Without preamble, he grabs Flynn by the back of his shirt collar and hisses, "So good to see you this evening, kim'jael. Might I have a word?"

Edited 2012-11-02 00:59 (UTC)

Chloe's bat signal goes right over Flynn's head, but the hand on the back of his shirt - kind of hard to miss. His first instinct is to turn and deck whoever's manhandling him, but Koltira's voice interrupts that plan.

If he were sober, he might have the presence of mind to recognize it as a real threat; he's heard enough from the rest of the D&D guild to know he should take Koltira seriously. But instead, he responds with a broad grin, barely even bothering to glance back at the elf.

"Depends. Will it be more legible than your texting?"

Oh for Christ's sake, Harry. There's no cure for that mouth, not in a thousand years or a thousand deaths.

"Easy, lads." She doesn't move from her spot, doesn't bother to set down her drink; she doubts Koltira has it in him to muder Flynn right there in the middle of a bar-- probably. Possibly.

"No reason we can't settle this like adults."

Koltira drags Flynn from his seat and holds him aloft--impressive, since the man just about matches Koltira's height. His armored hand closes around Flynn's windpipe with crushing force, and he speaks in a low, enraged growl.

"Oh, yes, Chloe, we shall settle it. Right here and now. I've had enough of your mouth, Flynn, and I'm of a mind to close it. Permanently."

Ordinarily he would never behave like this, and certainly not in public. But Flynn has cajoled him so many times from behind the safety and comfort of his netbook screen that Koltira cannot restrain himself. Petty insults over his typing abilities aside, Flynn had made light of the most terrible experience Koltira had endured on this island so far: Bariyan and Martin's respective deaths, as well as the horror that had preceded them. Koltira had been at his lowest point, miserable with grief and wracked with guilt, and Flynn had continued to prod him, as one would a caged animal.

But that animal was here now, in front of him, and its claws were sinking rapidly into Flynn's neck.

Nothing to sober you up like a crushing grip on your windpipe. Flynn's hands are at Koltira's immediately, fingers (uselessly) trying to pry underneath the tight hold and get some relief, some air, but it only takes a few seconds for him to figure out it's a pointless effort.

So in the next instant one hand is at his side, under his shirt and grabbing at the handgun at his waist. It's a practiced motion and even with the distraction of being strangled, it's fractions of a second before the gun's drawn and aimed, angled up towards Koltira's face - because again, this isn't Flynn's first rodeo, and he's still thinking clearly enough to not fire directly at the deflective armor inches away from his own vulnerable chest.

She's seen this before, to be honest (with less handgun) and, much like the last time, she's sitting this one out in favor of keeping an eye on things. And let's face it, she's finished her beer and that means Flynn's is up for grabs. Don't mind her, she'll just help herself. Carry on, boys.

Koltira grabs the gun with his free hand, fast as a whip crack, and crushes the barrel in his grip.

"Bloody fool," he hisses. "Do you people have no sense of public space when it comes to your weaponry?"

He relaxes his grip on Flynn's throat, just enough for the man to breathe, but Koltira doesn't put him down. Instead, he glances around the crowded bar, particularly at the significant amount of patrons who have stopped their conversations to gawk at this scuffle. The bartender glowers from behind the counter, though there's more fear than anger in her eyes. The sight of it sobers Koltira. A little.

"Let's take this discussion to a more appropriate place," he says. He starts to move, still holding Flynn aloft, heading for the nearest exit. The crowd does not seem interested in stopping him.

If he had any air in his lungs, Flynn would have a few choice words to express his displeasure at the destruction of his gun. Instead, there's a brief pause in his struggling as both hands go back to the gauntlet at his throat; breathing is kind of the priority at the moment.

Once Koltira loosens his grip and Flynn is able to just about breath again, however, one hand goes for a mostly blind swing at Koltira's face - unlikely to accomplish anything, but Flynn's more expressing his annoyance at this point. He started with kicking, but it didn't take him long to realize that was pointless against armor.

"Hey-- wait wait wait wait, no."

Might as well be talking to a wall. A frigid, angry wall. One that's making all this exceedingly complicated. Because she's not finished with her beer, and if they're gone guess who's stuck paying the bill. And she doesn't want to. Call it childish all you like, she was having a decent night for a change.

So much for that.

Once they've disappeared out the door, Chloe reluctantly climbs out of her seat, shoulders the cost of drinks plus disturbance and smooths it all over with a short joke about men and 'that time of the month' before trailing after them with her hands stuffed into her pockets. Heaven help them if they're both still breathing by the time she gets out there.

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