A Little Brawl Never Hurt Anybody [Solo]

[Jeremiah Maccabee]

The 12th of Summer 512 Ravok, Plaza of Dark Delights   “Another,” Mac said. The man behind the bar – it would be overly charitable to call him a bartender – swept Mac's mug out from under his nose and refilled it will ale. Mac pushed some coins at him. “That's your eighth, buddy. Ain't nobody here gonna carry ya home.” “I'm shelebrating a very important event,” Mac retorted. “Shorta.” “An' what event would that sorta be?” “An annivershary. The annivershary of the murder of Maria.” He downed a third of the mug. “Hey, thash funny. 'Murder of Maria.' Kinda rhymes." “Murder?” “Yesh'ir. And you my good man are lookin' at da bashtard that murdered her.”

[Jeremiah Maccabee]

The tavern in which Mac found himself on this particular night was not a large establishment. It was more of a hole-in-the-wall operation, long and narrow, with tables along one wall and a bar along the other. Apparently it was a popular place, though, because all the tables were occupied, as were most of the stools at the bar. A subdued level of nondescript murmuring provided a steady background noise, punctuated with an occasional exclamation or loud laugh. A lone barmaid kept the patrons at the tables supplied with ale and bread. The man took care of the bar. Earlier in the evening Mac had surmised that it was a mom-and-pop business and that they were the mom and pop. “Guard thish with your life,” he said pointing to his mug. “I'll be back.” He managed to get off his stool without falling over and cautiously navigated his way to the back and out the door where he proceeded to relieve himself against the backside of the building. “Nothin' quite like a good pee,” he said to no one in particular. He was making his way back to his drink when a plain-looking woman and her two male companions got up from their table to leave. Mac collided with the woman who lost her balance and landed on the floor on her posterior with an “oomph.” “Oops,” said Mac. “Shorry 'bout that.” For some reason this struck him as funny and he laughed. Her companions did not see the humor in it. One of them, a fortyish man a little taller than Mac with close cropped red hair, threw a right-handed round-house at him. Fortunately for Mac, the man was only slightly less drunk than him and the swing glanced off his chin. Mac kind of rolled with the punch and fell back against a wall. The red-head caught his balance and followed with a left jab. The main thing to remember about a fist is that while it looks big when it's coming at you, it is in fact not very big at all. So you don't have to move very far to get out of its way. He dropped his left leg a little which pulled his head out of the path of the oncoming fist. The wall was not so lucky. The man's fist smashed into it with wood-splintering force. Mac straightened his left leg and swung his left fist up at the same time, delivering a left hook into the man's chin. His head snapped back and he was literally lifted off the floor by the punishing blow. He came down square on a table, which collapsed under him. Mac turned to face the second man just in time to take a hard blow to the stomach. He doubled over with an “oomph”. The man had an ugly scar above his left eye and his nose looked like it had taken even more abuse over the years than Mac's had. It occurred to Mac that he might have gotten into more than he could handle. The man's follow through punch confirmed this theory. Mac went sprawling on to the floor on his back. He was glad he had chosen to leave his dagger at home because he would have been tempted to use it now if he had it with him. He rolled to avoid a kick and threw a punch at the man's groin. It didn't hit hard, but it was enough to elicit a yelp. Mac pushed himself to his feet and turned to pursue the retreating Scar Face. He collided head-on with a chair wielded by the red-head. The room spun wildly around him as he careened into a bar stool. His head hit the end of the bar and he saw stars. He picked up the bar stool and swung it at the red-head. It was a glancing blow, but enough to knock the red-head off his feet. Mac was starting to feel pretty good. By this time Scar Face had gotten back into the action. He took a swing, which Mac ducked and followed with a one-two combination to the guy's belly. It was like hitting a bag full of sand. The guy didn't seem to notice. Instead, his knee came up and connected none-too-gently with Mac's chin, which sent Mac crashing into the bar. His head landed on something solid and he saw more stars. He was always surprised at how literal this metaphor could be. He heard a woman screaming and people shouting and then everything faded into a pleasant silence. Thank the gods that's over, he thought. The entire altercation had taken just a little more than a chime.

[Jeremiah Maccabee]

Mac opened one eye, the other having decided not to participate. Sunlight streaming in through a small window located high on the wall illuminated the room enough for Mac to make out various-sized crates stacked along one wall, piles of full and semi-full sacks along another. He was in someone’s storeroom. “Ow!” he said as he touched the eye that wouldn’t open. He gingerly explored it with his finger and confirmed that it was swollen shut. He got to his feet and staggered to the only door in the room and opened it. He found himself in the tavern. The remains of a table and two chairs were piled up where the table used to stand. ‘Mom’ was sweeping up broken glass. ‘Pop’ was wiping down the top of the bar. He looked at Mac. “Sleep well?” he asked. “I wouldn’t know. Apparently I was unconscious. But I feel like I was dragged through a knot hole.” He gently massaged his temples. “Yep,” said ‘Mom’. “You took a beating. For whatever it’s worth, ya gave as good as ya got. Might have come out on top if there weren’t two of ‘em.” “No,” Mac said. “The red-head was a push-over but the other guy, the one with the scar, he knew what he was doin’. I don’t think I could take him one-on-one, even sober. Anybody else get hurt?” “Naw. Just the three of ya. Then everyone pretty much cleared out so we closed down for the night.” “So,” Mac said. “Damages and lost business. What do I owe you?” They both looked startled. The man shook his head and started to say something but the woman interrupted him. “Two gold mizas will cover it.” Mac retrieved two gold mizas from his money pouch and pushed them across the bar to the man. “Sorry for the trouble.” “Don’ worry ‘bout it,” the man said. “It’ll probably bring in more business.” Mac smiled and then grimaced as he discovered he had a split lower lip. Then he went home. LEDGER : -2 gm 32 cm

[Verilian]

Jeremiah Maccabee +2 Brawling You Question My Logic? : I think the award this time is pretty obvious, but if you have any questions, feel free to PM me. Lores: Getting Drunk, Getting into a Drunken Brawl Expenses: -2gm, 32cm Notes: Short and sweet. I liked how you made him pay for the damages at the end, just remember to deduct those from your ledger. Looking forward to reading more. Keep writing! Notice As per the request of the Founders, threads cannot be graded unless your CS is up to date. This means you need to add threads to your thread list when you make new threads, keep your skills up to date, ledger, living expenses, ect. If you aren't up to date, you'll get a PM from me before i grade your thread. If you are up to date, disregard this notice.