Just Another Bar Brawl

by **Tinnok** on June 3rd, 2014, 3:09 pm

The air was stale. When her nostrils twitched she got an array of odors that overcame her senses, clouding her mind and making her take a few ticks to bring herself back from a reeling catatonia. Stale alcohol, piss, shyke, blood, sweat. There was a strange earthy smell as well, but that was over run by animal stink. Not Tskanna, or Ashta, or Leopard breds, not Akila Hounds or Nandhai, but animals that worked under whip and chain all their lives, barely washed, rarely content with their pitiful lives. Buildings careened into the yellow sky around her, calloused feet stepping over half cobbles, half sand and gravel paths. She did not know what this place was, but she knew that she didn’t belong. This was no place for a witch, and she felt eyes upon her, as if the residents of this strange festering city knew that she didn’t belong either.

Tinnok’s dream self had assumed her current appearance. Her hair was cut short, just long enough to be pulled together with a small tuft of wavy brown hair sticking out from the back of her scalp, loose strands falling around her face and ears. She wore loose cotton clothing, barely covering her chest and hips, and like always, she was armed to the teeth. A bow and spear sat in line with each other over her back, belts crisscrossing her waist simply bristling with daggers, a scimitar hanging off her right hip. Golden eyes searched for some escape, some way out of this place, she knew she didn’t want to be hear, and the sounds of raucous noises drew her over to a bar. Here everyone was too pre-occupied with their beverages, gambling, or each other to notice her, and she walked cautiously forward, golden eyes glancing up and around to the treeless canopy of the city as if hoping to summon a single lone strangler fig that she could climb into a hide within.

Just as she was approaching the door the establishment she heard curses and yells drawing close and a man was kicked bodily through the thing fibers of the door onto the ground, sprawling at her feet. Tinnok took a disgusted step back and glanced down, speaking in fluent common that her mind could not handle in the waking world.

“Pathetic.” A good word for all she had seen so far, really…

by **Nathaniel Ankah** on June 3rd, 2014, 8:13 pm

Nothing beat a good whore fight, in Nate's opinion. Granted, it was hardly high-class entertainment and they had to be fine for it to really get you off, but it got the lads laughing and with a few tankards in you, that was all you cared about.

Two barely-clothed sluts pulling at each others' hair, spitting curses and poxy blood and knocking tables, cups, bowls and dice everywhere.

"Tha's a giwl, fuckin' do 'er! DO 'ER!" Reg was really getting into it, tossing coppers by way of encouragement as he sat next to Nate, laughing so hard half his ale went over his leather jerkin. "Dun' fuckin' play wiv 'er, fuckin-THA'S MORE LIKE IT!"

A thin, agonized shriek pierced the boozy jeers as... whatever her name was went reeling away from her opponent, clutching at her face with bloody fingers. They came away hesitantly, shock and pain quick giving way to sheer drunken fury as she charged again-

-and the other one spat out a tooth and adjusted the grip on her razor, ready to-

"Alright, fuckin' enough!"

The voice boomed over the crowd and the fighters and both turned to see Fat Henry marching towards them, rough and oversized bludgeon in his hand. He pointed to each one in turn, piggy face twisted with distaste.

"Both a' ya, stop dis bollocks and fuckin' get back on her backs, aye? And one of youse cunts, take this-"

He pointed to the now-still and silent body under a table: the source of their brawl. Some fair-haired kid from out of town who'd stupidly become enamored with some fucking whore, and had challenged a larger, stronger and infinitely more violent man for the right to her. Well, the hooker currently on his arm took umbridge to her, he took umbridge to the kid, along with his stilletto, and, well...

Henry had taken care of the bigger man, tossing him out into the street after cracking his skull. Now he growled at one of his girls marred and worth only coppers now, not silvers or gold, and spat to the side.

"Nate? Fuckin' get it movin' and earn yer coin, will ya?"

Nathaniel Ankah sighed theatrically and downed his dregs before slamming the tankard down. As he rose his little clutch of cronies did the same, bodies clanking with cudgels, daggers, maces and pilfered swords. Their arrogant, inebriated juvenile eyes swept around and drank in the tremor of intimidation the sight of them demanded from the crowd. Nate would have done the same, but, well... work was work.

"A'right, 'enry, 'aright. Reg, Yorick? Toss 'im out back inna' sewer. Go through 'im first, give what ya find to 'enry for 'is girl and-" two beefy hands shot out like steroid-enraged vipers and gripped both men's lapels "-give 'im everything, goddit?"

"Y-Yes, Nate!"

"Good lads."

Nate looked to his current employer for approval and got nothing but a low snarl and his stalking back as he went back to the bar. He wanted to be more upset but he could see his point. Brawling, hellraising, scrapping and fighting in gutters, that was one thing and one thing Nate enjoyed and excelled at... but running a business? Even one as simple as protecting a south end bawdy house?

What can ya say? You weren't a businessman?

The big, bulky human frowned at the voice... no, not the voice: the tone. No, not even that, the... wotsit... tense? Telling you when something was? Yeah, that was it, because this was... now... wasn't it? Or was he remembering it?

He shook his head clear of the thoughts and noticed the noise of the raucous bar still for a second. Eyes swiveled away from the slurring sluts and turned to...

"... well, hell-o, there..."

A beauty in tooth and claw walked into the tavern as if it was peopled by children and dwarfs, not cutthroats, pimps, whores and thieves. Yellow eyes like a snake's swept the scene with cold contempt and with every step, weapons clinked and slid in sheaths against a toned, tall and taut body.

Nate's eyes shone, and the night's work was swiftly forgotten. The reassuring bulge of his purse told him he had the coin for a whore or three, if he wanted them, but that was no fucking slit-for-sale. Even the yellow eyes, hinting at something other than human, weren't a distraction or warning to him.

She was unattainable and ferocious; cruel in her eyes and hard in her body. Not a dram of fat or weakness in her.

Let's try this the old-fashioned way, he thought to himself, fortifying himself with a final shot of Albert's Middle-Aged Peculiar before straightening himself up to his full height - gods, she's nearly as tall as you! - and making his way over.

After all, gotta get a wife one day. How're you gonna get one unless you practice, eh?

He moved swiftly through the crowd, the sight of his six-foot-plus form, all comprised of hard lines and fortified muscle, never taking his eyes from her. When Nate was close enough to get her attention, he gave her a short nod and made sure to hold that gaze, not look away or shirk like he was willing to bet many did.

Yellow slit met green orbs, and in the face of the wandering savage... Nathaniel smiled.

"Would tell ya to stow those weapons with Henry, but..." He let a long look meander down her body, taking in every edge and curve, metal and otherwise, before shrugging. "You look better with them, love."

Oh, yes. We were so fucking smooth, weren't we?

There is was again. That... tense thing. But what did it mean?

by **Tinnok** on June 3rd, 2014, 8:47 pm

The world was grey here, and lifeless, and this attitude she could not shake, even though there was plenty of life in the tavern. Strange women clothed in far too much, bounced their cleavage and served men like servants, playing for their enjoyment, while booze seemed to spill everywhere, and no one seemed to care. She saw a particularly fat man eye her on her entrance, along with more than a few others. Her eyes dared them to say one word to her of a challenge. She didn’t know why she had come here, when a deserted Shyke smelling alley would have been preferable. This crowding of bodies around her was not her style, yet she found herself desiring a drink nevertheless.

That was when she caught the gaze of someone. Most glanced away, others jeered, albeit not within her hearing, and gawked. She found a very different, gaze, however, in the deep green eyes of a man who was taller than she, and clearly the muscle around the place. He must have more confidence than most certainly, for his eyes undressed her, and she was expecting him to lick his lips as a result. Since he was obvious with his gaze, she was as blatant with her own. He was well toned, scarred, tumbled, one might say. Clearly of a different ilk than the soft skinned others that inhabited this place, and in that, at least, she approved.

Instead of retorting or giving back in kind, Tinnok merely returned the nod and strode on past the man towards the bar. Perhaps the way people stood this grubby place was with the drinks, only time would tell.

“Whatever is your strongest.” She said to a weasel of the barkeep. He glanced at her uninterestedly, and made sure to purposefully serve several other individuals before returning to her with a tall wooden cup of something that was so dark it looked black. “Dira’s Embrace we coll eht, cause that’ll be wot ya fine at teh bottom o’ yer mug.” He laughed and whipped a dirty cloth over his shoulder before returning to his work. Tinnok grasped the drink firmly, leaving her mizas on the table and glanced around in search of somewhere…not clogged with drunkards. There, a dirty, but clear corner. She began making her way there when a particularly voluptuous bar wench crossed directly in front of her, sending her reeling back, almost spilling her beverage, the woman tittering and glaring at her with strange twisted eyes. Tinnok sighed and kept walking, suddenly finding her dirty corner was occupied by those green eyes.

She stepped up to him, taking a long swig of her drink, feeling it sear a horrendous pathway down her esophagus, like it was burning away the very flesh there in order to get down to her stomach. Tinnok swallowed, eyes watering, then exhaled deeply through her nose. “You drink this shyke?” She said in way of conversation starter with the giant of a man, then took a seat on a rickety stool, placing her drink on the table’s surface.

by **Nathaniel Ankah** on June 3rd, 2014, 11:12 pm

“Whatever is your strongest.”

Nate couldn't help his eyes widening obviously when he heard that growled demand. Anton wasn't about to argue though; besides, it was fun seeing new comers cough up parts of their innards after a glass of Embrace.

"I'd be careful a' that, it's not for-"

He started his line with smooth calm, looking away to round up another tankard from Deirdre, but when he turned back, still-smirkiing-

-he was smirking at empty air... and the overweight slattern a few seats away.

"-faint-heart... Oh... sorry, Agnes."

"Gotta keep up, love."

Nate growled and his eyes flickered past Agnes to the nimble but too-tall-to-hide female, like he was hunting out prey among the brush.

"Too bloody right..."

Nate could just about work out where she was going, though. A newcomer, obviously a fighter, merk or killer-for-hire, getting the lay of the land or just looking to unwind after "business"? She'd want to enjoy her mizas, her booze and her continued existence in solitude. So, a nice, darkened corner... and he saw it.

"Keep an eye on the girls for a bit, yeah?"

"Lotta trouble, that one, laddie." Agnes said with a wry eye, glint that could have been amusement or concern entering her eyes. Well, eye: one was glass. "Far from the Berth."

"Oh, you're just jealous."

The old girl tittered at his jibe but still turned to face him. "Dhani and Myrian unless I miss my guess. Want a better example, little one? Fire and oil. Falling steel and soft flesh. Monsters and darkness."

Nate blinked back his surprise and turned back to the female walking over to her quiet place. A Myrian and a Dhani?! In the same skin?! He'd never even heard of that, let alone seen it! The hatred between the two races was legendary even as far from the jungle as Sunberth: even the shadow war between the Black Sun and the Syliran Knights was not fought with such genocidal fury.

Besides which, the Myrians were warriors all and their women could stomp Knights into the dust. The Dhani were nearly as adept, with the added bonus of being shapeshifters. Nate licked hisl ips again... and Agnes sighed.

"Why do I get the feeling I just spurred you on?"

But then she gave a quick gasp as Nate pecked her sheek, scruff scratching her cheek as he grinned down at her.

"Probably cuz ya did. Thanks, love!"

"Be careful, lad!"

"Stop worrying, Kay... leah...?"

The big man was moving fast but he seemed to slop as if suddenly wading through mud up to his shoulders. Kayleah... that wasn't a name he knew... or knew yet. Yet? But when else would that be? If this... was the present, then it didn't make sense. But when he looked back at Agnes, he saw for half a tick the corpulent but genial madam replaced by a firmer, stouter matron with black hair despite her wrinkled face, brown eyes and-

His shuddering gasp broke the spell. Agnes was there. The tavern was there. He was there and-

Hello?! Remember the girl?! Move, boy, for fuck's sake!

Nate wove and ducked and slid around the edge of the crowd, avoiding the plunging depths and human wreckage that Tinnok found herself beating against, so by the time she'd surfaced again, he was at her table, one leg resting over his knee, callused hand caressing his tankard... and like a gentleman, rising to meet her.

Gods, even the way she drank could have popped the fly on his breeches. She tipped back a glass of liqor that you could have neutered dogs with... and her eyes watered... be breath stalled... her pupils dilated, or as much as those eyes could... but she did not choke, or retch. She just sat down with an exhalation.

"You drink this shyke?”

"No, I like my stomach without extra holes," he said with honesty calculated to disarm her... though one look at the arsenal strapped to her told him how likely that was. So instead he raised his own glass of amber liquid and gulped down a few swallows, "So I stick to this. Working tonight, too. Wouldn't do to have security sloshed, now would it? I suppose this is where I introduce myself and ask you who you are, what're you doing here, all that shyke..."

He turned to face her, elbow on the table, chin resting on his fit like a bag of walnuts. Green eyes glittered with amusement, like a madman thoroughly enjoying his game of Pin The Tale On The Angry Tiger.

She excited him. Just being close to her aroused him. He tried to keep his eye on the game - and getting her into bed - but...

"But we-"

Then the door opened and a crew of dejected, clamoring curs oozed into the tavern, snapping like jackals at all they approached. Nate's little gang of minder stood and the two groups clashed in that barely-controlled way of males the world over: nose to nose, all but touching, fingers and jutting lips doing most of the work, threatening over, through and under each other.

Nate was on his feet in a tick, the sight of him rising attracting additional attention... but her, again. What was with this? With her, with him, this place, this time, it was so...

Something niggled in the core of him mind. It chewed and kicked and mewled and he couldn't place it... but it gave him the Isurian Steel balls to turn back to her, hands flat on the table as he loomed over her, shadow falling over her face and making those yellow eyes glow, biceps strained against his shirtsleeves.

"Later we'll pick this up, love, and maybe I'll talk you into my bed... in fact, I probably will."

His soul screamed as his lips grinned.

"But for now? Business calls. Join in if you want." He straightened up, heart pounding and not just from the imminent violence, flicking a glance up and down her. "Looks like you might be the kind to enjoy it..."

With that Nathaniel turned on his heel and marched his way through the crowd, pushing back and forth, sparing no-one and not taking his eyes from... oh, fuck, it would be Smythe and his fucking cock-bags, wouldn't it? Under cover of the crowd he unlimbered his mace, heavy gnarled head and shaft a weight that bore down hard even in his huge hand.

Not a great weapon for a bar brawl... but it'll get in a few good bashes until I lose it. Then... petch it, I'll improvise.

by **Tinnok** on June 4th, 2014, 3:27 am

She watched him, all poise and confidence. She was sure he simply swept the women off their feet, if not with his wits than with those muscular hands and ripped biceps, probably forcibly if he didn’t get his way with the words. That rung as strange, foreign. In a land faraway, in one she once lived that would be sacrilegious at best to be so forceful with a woman, but Tinnok wasn’t particularly engaged with the way Myrians did things…or she’d have a few less scars and burns on her flesh to this day. She took another swig of the liquid, already feeling it warming her insides. The barkeep was right, she’d find something at the bottom of this mug alright, though death might not be the word.

She wasn’t quite used to the expression there, probably because outside of this dream she hadn’t actually been in the outside world. Someone that saw her eyes and skin and took it up as a challenge, and not simply one to duel her…well not with weapons…well not those weapons…Goddess but that drink was strong. She watched him, preparing each flawless line before it rolled out of his mouth, her own lips twisted up in amusement, curling the corners of her eyes.

She caught wind of the danger as he did, two pairs of eyes snapping to assess the situation. For him it was a matter of wages, for her, survival. She saw their numbers, felt the heat rise in the room, and slid further into her booth, clutching her drink. She watched him go, more regretful than she might have imagined, until his hand slammed down upon the table grabbing her attention, and uttering a profoundly ridiculous statement about getting her in bed. She was about to laugh in his face, but he was already gone. Tinnok’s nose twitched, and her eyes slid down to her glass. If she finished that…she’d be asleep in the middle of a bar brawl, best to wash it down with something lighter.

She snatched the amber mug the nameless brute had had, and downed it in one go, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and slamming it down, her head spinning. Perhaps…she shouldn’t have done that. Ah well. A pleasant warmness in her brain and belly, Tinnok propped her face up her palm which balanced on her elbow as she watched what commenced, deciding to admire the giant of the male some more. In his hand he clutched a mace. Tinnok didn’t particularly care for blunt weapons. Why break when you could stab, as she always liked to say.

Someone slapped a wench, someone growled, then a bottle was broken over someone else’s head and the fighting began. The half breed felt like a child on some holiday, half delirious watching the fighting commence, it took a tick before she realized she had an aim there, it was that man. She found him, back to her. He had a nice backside, she had to say. She found herself focusing on it when an exhausted looking woman wearing streaking make-up, hair astrew took shelter in her booth, staring rather apprehensively at the half breed.

“I don’t bite.” Tinnok said, taking a very tentative sip off her dark drink, turning back towards the fight. She couldn’t tell who was who, so she just watched for the head that rose…well a head above the others.

“Got an eye for Nate, have ya?”

“Is that the one that comes on about as strongly as that drink?”

The woman was taken aback, then broke into bright bursts of laughter, her sides heaving. “Yah, that’s im.”

“Hmm, he’s not terrible to look upon.”

“You can say that again.” And both women stared into the fight, Tinnok narrowly dodging a wooden tankard.

Someone was thrown towards her, head smashing into the table. His attacker followed through to make sure he was really down and out, lumbering into the table and glaring at both of them. “Wot are you wenches laying about fer, laughin’ at os?” Her grabbed the woman by the collar of her dress.

Tinnok rose slowly, unhurriedly, and came around the back of him, tapping his back gently. When he seemed not to respond, she used two fingers, and prodded it slightly harder. This time he turned around, eyes afire with adrenaline and drink. It was then that he got sight of the individual he had referred to as “wench,” but before another word could leave his mouth, the half Myrian, half Dhani had grabbed his skull in both of her hands and held it there, her own skull cracking against his, and throwing him to the floor. She glanced at the shocked female, rubbing her forehead with one hand.

“The drink helps with that too…huh.” Then the abomination slowly began disarming herself. The bow and quiver were laid neatly in her previously occupied seat, then her scimitar, then the spear. She kept her daggers though, glancing at the woman.

“You’ll watch those won’t you, I’d don’t want to get robbed my first night here.” To emphasize the point she leaned in, yellows eyes glowing. The woman gulped and nodded. Tinnok smiled sweetly, then turned around cracking her neck. Well if they wanted to interrupt a perfectly civil conversation between her and local, fine, now she was in the fray.

OOC :

by **Nathaniel Ankah** on June 4th, 2014, 11:32 pm

Of course, it kicked off proper before Nate could even wedge the two groups apart with his body... not that he was expecting a peaceful resolution. Smythe's rodent eyes flickered over to him and any other road vanished.

Dark, oozing delight filled them, and with a flick of his wrist metal gleamed in his hand and-

-the whore screeched in outrage and then in agony, palm blade slicing open fer face from ear to lip. Fat Henry was aleady lumbering over but it was like holding back a pack of rabid dogs without a leash. Boozed up, eyes fuzzy and mouths stained from chewing Kraji root or snorting Sweshrooms, all of them seemed like spastic time bomb with weapons and machismo to-

"The fuck was that, do you know-"

Henry went down with a grunt as one of Smythe's thugs shut him up fro good via. a full bottle of ale, and then the two groups crashed into each other in a mess of gasping hands, swinging limbs and flashing steel.

Got to get in there, Nate thought, sudden urgency sending him hurling a couple of pedestrians out the way, before no-one's a civilian anymore.

But until then, all he could do was watch. Ralfie getting a decent crack in with his brass knuckes, sending bloody teeth flying before being tackled to the ground and bitten on the face. Lil' Willy burying his knife in some beefy bastard's balls, riding him down to stab at his belly in a frenzy before one of Smythe's men bowled him over with a billy-club. Smythe himself, hacking and slashing at all around, a widening circle around him smeared and sprayed with blood, but his eyes always coming back to Nate...

Fine. Fucking prick wants it, no fucking bother.

Others still wanted a piece, though. As was typical for a Sunberth brawl, the drunken epicenter soon spread into every corner of the bar. Every simmering resentment of the night finally had an excuse to become a fury of broken glass and grasping hands. The whores plunged into the spreading melee with equal abandon, some of them pulling little knives from their hair or their dresses, eager smiles on their faces.

Someone rushed Nate from the side, drink-maddened eyes bright as the dirk in his hand. Nate half-swayed, half-toppled back, blade jerking past his stomach, bringing the mace swinging down at the same time-

-shattering the would-be assassin's arm at the elbow, leaving him screaming at the unnaturally limp and flopping limb-

-until Nate hauled off and shut him up with a vicious left hook straight into the chops. One less problem to deal-

"Fucker!"

Or not, apparently-

He whirled around at the voice, just in time to see a chair hurtling towards him-

-and he jerked his mace up out of instinct, feeling the impact jar him like an earthquake in his limbs, splinters stabbing into his hands even as the chair broke apart-

Focus! React! Don't just fucking stand there!

Nate followed his own advice, falling into the feral instincts of the brawler. Hesitations, mores, even thoughts... they just seemed to vanish. Finding threats and ending them. That was as far as his mind went from that moment on-

-sending his hob-nailed boot crashing into Chair Swinger's balls before the thing had even finished smashing apart, lifting him up clean off the ground with an anguished squeal.

Nate waited until he'd come back down to his feet... or knees, rather, before kicking him again, snapping his head back with a perfect vertical arc of teeth and blood trailing from his ruined mouth.

Something roared. Bellowed. Something big. Another threat lumbered through the crowd, and Nate was reminded again that while he was a big man, even a giant to many, he certainly wasn't the biggest. Nor the prettiest, judging by the monster Smythe had bought in as muscle.

Bellowing like a mutilated bull, No-Face flung patrons out of his way in a fury, eager to get his vast hands around Nate's throat.

Not thoughts. Not hesitation. The fastest way to end the fight... that was all that mattered.

Nate snatched a lit oil lamp from the nearest table and flung it at the giant's face. The thing shattered and exploded in a furious fireball and the beast went back screeching, clutching at his face as it smoked and sloughed off in strips-

-as Nate roared back and went down to one knee, swinging the mace two-handed horiontally, and low-

-smashing into No-Face's knee and destroying it. He straightened up and some eternally-amorous part of him sought out Her again, craning his neck over the brawl for just a tick-

-jaw dropping as he saw her deliver a perfect, beautiful damn-near-and-fuck-you-if-you-don't-agree sexual headbutt on some nameless fool who'd menaced a working girl near her. He went down dribbling blood and then she turned, walking into the fray like it would part for her.

"Fuck me," Nate muttered, as if dazed. "I think I'm in love."

"Cunt?!"

He whirled and his frustrated loins cost him. No-Face was driven by more than just rage and hate, it seemed. Sheer, unquenchable stubbornness saw him rise to his feel like a kraken from the filthy floor and Nate's jaw dropped, looking in shock at the fist heading his way-

"Ohhhhh, no-"

He flew. It was exhilarating, though the landing could have used some work. The table exploded under him and his first bleary sight was of the tavern's band still playing madly above him, some sailing tune that went on at a thousand miles an hour, belted out with fiddle, pipes, flutes and cello, the last of which the musician used as a very effective club.

Then his vision cleared a little... and No-Face wasn't there... but She was.

It should have hurt more. It should have broken half the bones in his head, but the consequences, the aches and regrets of tomorrow... Nate didn't feel them tonight. he smiled with bloody teeth and wiggled onto his elbows, grinning up at her like some lovestruck juvie.

"May I 'ave this dance?"

OOC :

by **Tinnok** on June 5th, 2014, 1:47 am

She waded into the fray with a focused attention to detail. She didn’t like the look of most of these wenches with knives, and as one came screaming towards her her elbow shot out into her face, a satisfying crunch of a nose happening as blood spurted out of her face and she screamed. Tinnok palmed her chest, hard, sending her reeling backwards, grabbing some other man by the back of his shirt and pulling him to the floor to get her a single body closer to the concentrated grouping.

“Petching snake, go the petch home!” She paused for a moment. That insult was clearly directed at her, but she couldn’t quite tell…ah there. Broken shards of a bottle hurled towards her face. She sidestepped, hip checking another wench and wrapping her hands around the throat of this new attacker, his eyes red with drink. Snapping his neck didn’t seemed prudent, so she used her grip to simply knee the man in the groin and let him get trampled by those continuing the fight.

That was when from behind, someone got something sharp into the small of her back. Tinnok snarled like a wild animal and turned as swiftly as she could manage in the suffocating throng of people, finding herself face to face with…no the standard drunken brawler. He had stabbed her with a section of glass, which she wrenched out of her back with a gasp, throwing it to the floor and sizing him up. He was of a height with her, a bit shorter, but clearly built, she could see the muscles standing out in his neck, arms, veins pulsing. His eyes were clear from alcohol, or at least the same levels of most taking part in the fight, and when he came at her she couldn’t so easily just throttle him, or knee him in the crotch.

Their arms locked, both trying to get at each other, while simultaneously keeping the other one at bay. Tinnok kicked out a leg, but he deflected it and stomped on her toe, causing her eyes to water. She could feel his strength winning out, it’d only be a tick or two before his arms were the ones grabbing her, perhaps to throw her and have her be trampled, maybe to break her jaw, or her nose.

Her head dipped and she sunk her teeth into his arm, hard enough to break the skin and draw blood. The man cursed in a few languages, his grip loosening enough for her to try another head slam. This one was not as effective, but her body shifted and she drew a dagger, wrenching it into the man’s gut. She wasn’t sure if that was…how this whole thing worked, but he had stabbed her in the back, only fair she return the favor.

But he wasn’t done yet, even with the knife in his gut. His hands clasped around her throat, even as the color was draining from his face, the knife in his gut keeping them from spilling out. Tinnok choked, gagged, seeking air that she wasn’t able to get. Her yellow eyes bulged, one arm darting up and slamming down upon his, dislodging his weakening grip, and gasping for air. She grinned maliciously and grabbed both of the man’s wrists, shifting her weight and hurling the man through the crowd sending him smashing into the hulking creature that had just sent Nate sprawling. The two of them went toppling to the floor, and Tinnok half skipped, half leapt over the bodies in her way, an alarming amount of them motionless to find the man bleeding upon a broken table.

He grinned up at her, mouth filled with blood, and Tinnok grinned, offering him a hand. She didn’t know anything about barbarian dances, yet without pause she inclined her head and knees in a half curtsy, rising and yanking the man onto his feet in one go, pulling him up to meet her, their faces alarmingly close, on level with each other, breathing hard, both smelling of booze and blood, a terribly intoxicating combination. Her breath caught in her throat a moment, smile wavering, and then she pulled her thumb across his lower lip, wiping away a smear of crimson, and testing it on her tongue a moment. She watched his reaction with pleasure, then her eyes darted over his shoulder, and she took a measured half step back, already returning to a fighting pose.

“That thing is still alive, and I think he’s pissed at both of us now.”

True to her word, the lumbering brute roared and charged headfirst toward the two of them, feet shaking the floorboards with the force at which he moved. Grabbing the man’s arm she yanked him out of harm’s way, watching serenely as the great thing knocked over three or four other people in the drunken thrall.

“When this is over, you owe me a drink…Nate.” She grinned, cracking her knuckles and ran directly toward the great hulking goliath that was No-face. Right arm came backwards, winding up so that when he turned to stare dumbly at her, mind registering what had just occurred, her fist slammed into the lower part of his jaw, teeth rattling together, catching his tongue betwixt them. He roared in pain and batted her out of the way like an empty tankard, sending her flying, injured back slamming into the rim of the bar. She grunted, looking up to see two massive fists joined together and coming down in a threatening blow directly for her head.

Grinning she dropped down, sliding between the brute’s legs and jumping up behind, one foot lifting her off the ground, the other lifting between his legs to give whatever goods he had hanging there a solid kick from behind. The creature howled again, but didn’t go down, whirling surprisingly quick like to send her flying again with a fist to the ribs.

“FUCK!” She cried, and flew over behind the bar with the shattering of much glass.

by **Nathaniel Ankah** on June 5th, 2014, 3:31 am

Everything stilled in Nate's mind when her thumb caressed his lip. A quick gesture, almost businesslike, but he had to hold himself back from stumbling, slack-jawed and incredulous. The heady, almost giggling high of the brawl ebbed and drowned under a very different, far more stifling sort of excitement that crackled under his skin-

-and made his eyes burn at the sight of her tongue flicking out for just a tick and tasting it, tasting him...

Something about "that thing". How pissed it was. Fuck it, in that moment he would have charged Uphis with a broken chair leg. Which was probably why she had to yank him out the way and four hundred pounds of half-blind, third-crippled and all-enraged hulk roared past them like an out-of-control carriage.

Then she said his name. How she knew it, Nate had no idea but he watched her charge off to chop down that fucking tree with a stupid grin on his face-

-and got blindsided by another pair of bastards as a lesson.

"Fuck!"

They were sloppy, though. Could have knifed him up easily enough but one of them grabbed him low around the waist, head just above his hips-

-until Nate used the momentum of the run to lurch to the side, smashing his bent form and top of his head into the side of the bar. There was a heavy crack that could have been a fracture. He was past caring. He let the man slide away like a sack of twitching shit and the other man... well, he was more problematic. And his teeth were sharper.

Nate roared out in outraged agony as a dozen sharpened fangs bit down into the side of his throat, the second man with his legs wrapped around his waist from behind. The big man flailed and stretched as the snarling, spitting, growling thing tried to take a chunk of of him.

Can't get to my blade, fuck, get-

"-fucking OFF ME!"

With that explosion of noise he hurled himself backwards and slammed the bastard into the edge of the bar, back first. All the air erupted from him in a heavy "whoof!" just next to Nate's ear, his legs weakening, the teeth sliding from their holes in his throat-

-and Nate's left hand slid snake-fast to the kukri sheathed and hidden at the small of his back, ripping it free, reversing the blade and-

-stabbing backward a half-dozen times, until his left arm ached from the sheer force of it and his lower back was soaked in blood and stinking effluence that was leaking from...

The hole he'd made and the mess the kukri had created in Toothy's belly. Nate staggered away as he turned, regarding his work with some measure of queasy pride-

"NRAAAAAAH!"

"Oh, fuck, not you agai-"

No-Face was in no mood to witty repartee, though. Face still steaming, dragging his leg behind him like a toddler that wouldn't be parted from his parent, he clamped his massive hands around Nate's throat and the sheer unholy force made him drop the precious blade, both hands reaching up to grab No-Face's wrists...

Gaining no purchase. No effect. Even his brute strength was a gust compared to the hurricane this barely-human monster seemed to possess. Red, mutated eyes glared at him with staggering hatred, stinking breath flecked with blood gasped into his face.

So... tired... legs going... fuck... fuck...

"... YOU!"

With a last, desperate jerk he slipped a hand down, under and between those two slabs of meat, jamming his ring index and middle finger into No-Face's nose up to the second knuckle. The beast's eyes crossed in a manner that would have made Nate laugh any other night-

-just before Nate ripped his arm up with a bark of savage victory, taking his fingers and hand with it, like he was delivering an uppercut-

-and ripping apart No-Face's nose into the bargain.

He screeched again and reared back, trampling downed fighters and scrambling civilians without qualm, hands crushing his face again in childlike pain. Nate let himself roll onto the bar and then onto the floor, coughing and spluttering and forcing handfuls of air back into his lungs, bruised throat hating him for it-

-and coming face to face with a panting She crouched behind the bar. He instincitvely scanned her for wounds, but she looked solid... shyke, he doubted much could bang her around with any visible effect. And that gleam hadn't lessened an iota in her eyes.

Without thought and gripped by that selfsame madness that hand him asking for a dance, Nate gripped her by the arms and pulled them both into a crouch.

"Come on, girl-"

Then he kissed her. It was fast and fearless and if he didn't do it then, he might never have the balls to again. Even in the chaos of the brawl, with whores screeching and brawlers cursing and everything breakable breaking, he pondered from a broken tick the logistics of taking her right now, behind the bar.

But that kiss was enough. More than enough.

"-gotta keep up."

He broke it with a wink and a quip and before she could gut him for his presumption he leaped-

She gave him that. Not just energy or strength or bravado; the sheer life to cast off his bruised ribs and battered skull and weak arms and throw himself over the bar and land (somewhat) on his feet. He dipped down and reclaimed his kukri, favoing the short, nasty blade in close quarters... and rolling his shoulders as No-Face finally got one eye locked on him... Smythe and Co. still smashing and shattering to and from his own boys...

The band played on, new song a bass, angry tune that pumped bile and sick satisfaction through the air. No-Face glared and snarled and stamped his good foot. Someone got too close to Nate and took a swing, only for him to sway away, grab handful of hair and slam the head once, twice, thrice into the bar...

"Alright, ya shaved fucking Jamoura," he said with a spit to the side, "Got a woman and a drink waitin' for me. Les' wrap this up, eh?"

OOC :

by **Tinnok** on June 5th, 2014, 4:02 am

She breathed deep. Ribs were probably cracked, a few scratches from the broken bottles, and that blasted glass wound in her back, but other than that...and considering the circumstances, all was well. And they got even better when Nate jumped behind the bar with her, eyes giving her a once over, and for the first time that night, not looking like his only goal was to tear the clothing from her flesh and have his way with her.

He got in close, too close for just words, but she was still surprised by the rough kiss, getting the second taste of his blood that night, and not minding it one bit. She leaned into the quick motion, drawing away in time with him, only to have her smile transform into a grimace as he vaulted over the bar. Coward.

She closed her eyes, savoring the moment for one more, then stood up, climbed atop the bar. The creature was nearly dead, and Nate certainly had it handled. Instead she leapt upwards, grabbed ahold of an overhanging beam and set sail feet first over the crowd towards her pile of weapons, the maid from before guarding them dutifully, her scimitar in her hands if anyone got too close. She saw Tinnok and made a move to drop the sword, but Tinnok just shook her hand, and pushed the sword back into her grip.

That wasn't what she had come for anyway.

Lifting up her longbow, she lay five arrows on the table, one already partially notched as she scanned the crowd. It was diminishing, as was her strength. All she wanted to do now was get the petch out of here, preferably with Him and an intact bottle of liquor, if there even was one. So, how did one clear a crowded bar? She drew back an arrow, at this distance the aiming part was easy, and she only drew the string back three quarters of the way.

One leg. Draw, notch, aim. Another leg. Draw, notch, aim. The back of that petching gimpy monster...just to be sure. Draw, notch aim. Right into a calf muscle. They were dropping like flies now.

Her second to last arrow was quivering in the bar as the half breed summoned up a familiar feeling in the back of her throat. Perhaps in a dream she didn't need to use magic, for the fabric of it could easily be manipulated. So many parts of her, however, seemed to follow her normal behaviors...others perhaps not so much, but it wasn't a deviation that allowed her to use anything other than magic for this trick.

For a moment, as the djed soared up through her chest and into the back of her throat, sinking into her vocal chords, she was not in Sunberth, but back in a warm, humid jungle, soft soil beneath her feet, clear blue sky blocked by the tangle of plants and animals that inhabited them. One animal in particular emerged from her throat then in a roar not unlike No-face's initial war cry, but with a feral, non-human edge. It drowned out the band just on the last verse of their song, her body stepping into the sound and making sure it washed over the brunt of the fight, releasing her next arrow into the leg of the next person that glanced at her, then drawing another one, and pulling back on the string fully.

A confused and buzzing quiet fell over the place then. Dead bodies littered the floor as if in a mass grave. The behemoth shifted from his partially fallen state to slump heavily on the floor, all the way dead thanks to the efforts of the two brawlers from vastly different lands.

4 individuals were bawling with their arrows in their legs, dragging the injured appendages, another half dozen had broken bones and bleeding mouths, prolly everyone had a concussion of some sort. Tinnok did a follow up growl, low and threatening, arrow darting from one face to another, and that was when a bit of the rush of the fight seemed to leave the people then, what was more important: Beating the petch out of someone, or seeing tomorrow?

And then the bar started clearing pretty fast. The djed slipped back down where it belonged, and the half breed let her bow down and strode over to Nate, eyes locking with his as if in promise, only to walk by him again, leaning over the bar, and showing off a bit of leg while she rummaged for something to drink that wasn't smashed.

She popped back up with a dusty green glass bottle, which she uncorked with her teeth, spitting the tan object into the pile of bodies. She wasn't sure if this meant Nate had lost his job, or got a raise, but she was done with those ingrates, her prize was right there, banged up, a bit bloody, and still looking ready to fight.

"Wanna get out of this dump?" Her lips twitched, and she offered a bloody hand. "It's Tinnok, by the way." Not too fair to leave the bloke hanging about her name when she knew his, though she doubted he ever played fair.

by **Nathaniel Ankah** on June 5th, 2014, 1:53 pm

The brawl was winding down, but that didnt mean it was over... or easier. Now only the most ruthless bastards in the tavern were left standing (or staggering), and Nate could see at a glance his boys were outnumbered. But No-Face was the real problem, blinded as he was... and Nate was aching to finish what he'd started.

"COME 'EAD, YA BASTARD!"

No-Face charged like a good little blunt instrument, but he wasn't nearly quick enough anymore to match Nate when it came to agility. Ankah was hardly an acrobat, but he still slid smoothly through the detritus and pools of beery blood, slashing low at the passing figire-

ripping a nasty would into the back of his good leg-

-going with the backhanded swing to slam his elbow into the back of his granite-like skull-

"SHYKE!"

Then curse his shock as a three-foot-long arrow suddenly appeared in the middle of his back, spearing No-Face like he was a deer on the hunt. Nate actually managed an exaggerated frown of annoyance as he turned... and saw beautiful She notching a fresh arrow.

"Worry about your own, thief!"

But the job was not yet done. Nate's free hand grabbed the back of No-Face's hair as he slumped down, wheeKng, jerkinf his head back... and he found Smythe on the other side of the tavern with the remnants of his crew, staring in shock as Nate jammed his kukri into the side of that bull-like neck, then ripped it forward-

tearing out arteries, voice box, wind pipe and a geyser of stealing scarlet-

-just as a roar like a Grazer's darkest nightmare shook the wrecked tavern like the footsteps of a god.

All eyes everywhere, in various states of injury, turned to the bow-wielsing savage. Just to press the point home, a follow-up growl like rolling thunder issued from between her snarling teeth... and Nate felt his hardness twitch another few inches.

Gods, she is fucking perfect...

With a smirk on his face and the downed collosus at his feet, Natectirned back to Smythe, backed up by his new friend. The street demon weighed his chances... and then bolted with everyone else.

Peace - or, at least, the absence of violence - returned to the tavern. Crawling, groaning figures clutched at themselves and Nate knew he still had work to do... but he couldn't bring himself to care. All he could do was watch with hungry, hypnotized eyes as She sashayed past him, reeking of blood and victory... his lands strained as he caught a delicious glimpse of sweat-and-scale-shining thigh... then she was close to him again, so close, for close, offering him a drink-

Tinnok. Her name is Tinnok.

With a growl like a maddened wolf Nate lunged forward almost before she'd finished speaking. It wasn't quick that time: he crushed her lips with his and devoured her, tasted and savored and supped deep like a dying man. His tongue and lips warred with hers and without a care to how lethal he knew her to be, he placed a band in the small of her back, pushed her flush against him

Letting her see just what she'd done to him.

When he lulled away, lips swollen and tingling, breathless, you could have powered channel locks with the sheer sexual electricity radiating off him. Eyes wide and teetering between lust and madness drank her in, bored into her...

Thought of her offer. His oversized cot back at Kayleah's. The thought of her in it, with him rolling and gasping and moaning... and, strangely enough, still being there when the clean dawn light filled the dirty window and woke him.

"I know a place." He whispered harshly, enamored beyond sense and help. "Right now..."

The door creaked. Two still and saucer-eyed figures returned from their body disposal to find naught but wreckage, bodies and smoke where the merrkment had once been... and two tall, bloodied warriors apparently on the verge of fuckinc each other witless right in the middle of it.

"Er..." Reg began. "... boss?"

"Leave 'I'm," Yorick muttered, never one to miss an opportunity as he grinned, surveyed the carnage and produced his tooth-pulling forceps. "Knew tonight was gonna be a good one..."