Solo Bad Habits

[Saul Sticks]

Bad Habits 7th of Spring, 516 AV It had been a long time since Saul had been in a bar. He was pretty sure not a single drop of alcohol had passed his lips since he had arrived in Syliras, not due to some saintly attitude. He had just been too busy trying to get his feet under him. Long, hard days at work meant he was too tired to go out when he finished, and even when he did have the time and money, Brat was always there. With the guilt trips she laid on him, there was no way he could justify going out for a night of drinking, even when the other workers on the docks invited him. Which was why he was out tonight. Some of the guys on the docks had convinced him to come out for a few drinks, and Brat, having been mysteriously absent of late, was not there to convince him otherwise. That’s how he had found himself out at the Rearing Stallion this night. He was two drinks in when a hand slapped him heartily on the shoulder, nearly causing him to spill his beer. He looked over at the offender and immediately recognized the face of his little brother. It was a hard face not to recognize, mostly because it was so ugly. “Sam, what are you doing here?” Sam smiled the same smile he always used when he was trying to get something out of someone. “Same thing as everyone else, Saul. I’m drinking.” “Yeah? Well, me too. For the first time in I don’t know how long.” “Well, it’s good to see you fall off the wagon.” “Believe me, sobriety was never what I aimed for.” Sam beamed that big smile of his. “The end of sobriety. That’s something I can drink to, or I would, if I had a beer.” Even though he knew Sam was using him to get something for free, Saul motioned for the bartender to get Sam a drink. Sam was right. Finally being out at a bar again was something worth celebrating, and Saul could buy a round or two for his brother to help someone else celebrate with him. The beer slid forward, and Saul slid the coins to cover the drink back across the bar to the bartender. Sam smiled again. “So if you haven’t been trying to be sober, what’s kept you from this place?” “Work. I’ve barely been able to do more than work and sleep. I’m providing for two now.” That last part was meant to be a jab at Sam and how unsuccessful he was, but Sam shrugged it off. Sam’s daughter, Brat, was now living with Saul, had been for nearly three years since Sam had brought her to Saul because he was no longer able to provide for himself and another. It might have been the one good thing Sam had done as a father. “So you managed to keep the little wench around. How’s that working out for you?” “She isn’t a wench. She has a name. And, to answer your question, about as well as can be expected. It’s hard to have another mouth to feed.” Sam shrugged. “People wondered why I couldn’t do it, but here you are, as the responsible one of our family, saying you struggle. I suddenly don’t feel so bad about it anymore.” Saul gave Sam a skeptical look. “Since when have you ever felt bad about anything you’ve done?” That ridiculous smile came back to Sam’s face. “Guilty as charged. I never have.” The two drained their beers, and Sam had Saul buy them another round.

[Saul Sticks]

Saul was finishing his fourth beer of the night when he realized Sam had already taken the third drink Saul had bought for him and disappeared among the crowd, likely to go try someone else to get him a free drink. Saul might have been mad, but his long abstinence had made him sensitive to the effects of alcohol. He was enjoying himself, and Sam’s irritating antics wouldn’t change that. In fact, if Sam came back around, Saul was feeling particularly generous and would buy him another if Sam asked. Saul sat up straight, his height combined with the advantage of the bar stool allowing him to see over most of the patrons. Sam was a small man though and was easily missed among the taller patrons of the bar. One thing about Sam that wasn’t small though was his voice. Across the bar, Saul could hear him come to the end of a particular raunchy joke. As Saul had observed nearly every time he saw his little brother, Sam was a master manipulator, and his joke did the work. The men surrounding him burst into laughter, and one of them clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder, pulling him toward the bar. As the man bought Sam a drink and placed it in his hands, Sam turned to Saul and gave a subtle wink. Master manipulator. The only problem was Sam didn’t know when to stop. The youngest Sticks brother was likely to push people to generosity, then push their generosity too far. While he was skilled at manipulating people, he was also skilled at overestimating his own abilities. That often left Saul to bail his little brother out of whatever mess he had created. Sam left and inserted himself into another conversation with absolute strangers. Shrugging, Saul went back to his drink, enjoying the pleasant tingle and warmth in his cheeks and the subtle, almost nonexistent sway of the room every time he turned his head. He really was getting to be a lightweight, but that made drinking cheaper. Except the fact that he tended to be more generous the drunker he was. Still, it wasn’t all a bad thing. Saul was having a good time, and for once, he wasn’t worrying about how he’d provide for Brat. As it seemed to be with all good things, it didn’t last. A few minutes later, there was a crash that brought everyone’s attention at the bar. Saul looked and saw Sam pinned to a wall by a brute of a fellow who intended to beat him to a pulp. Like any good Sticks family member, Sam knew how to take a beating. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to avoid it. He may have been scrawny, but that made him slippery. Ducking and twisting like a fish out of water, Sam wriggled his way out of the man’s grasp and made his way quickly to the safest place in the bar, Saul’s side. The man came after Sam, but Saul stood in his way. Or at least, that’s what he intended to do, but he was drunk. He wasn’t quite in control of himself. Saul stumbled off his stool, then stumbled a little more while he tried to find his footing. The end result was the same. When Saul finally stood up, he found himself between Sam and the man intent on hurting him. “Out of my way,” the man growled. Saul held up his hands in what he imagined was a placating manner. He wasn’t much good at calming people. He usually wanted a fight, but Brat would be furious if he got into one. “Hold on now, friend. I’m sure he deserves whatever it is you want to do to him. He’s a pain in my ass, and he’s my brother. But he is my brother, and kin is still kin, no matter how much you despise them.” “Thanks,” Sam muttered behind him. Saul ignored Sam and tried to focus on the other man. “I can’t let you hurt him.” The man took another step toward Saul. “Out of my way, Saul. I don’t wanna have to hurt you, too.” Saul felt pretty confident that the man could hurt him if he wanted to. He was easily a few inches taller than Saul and just as well built. Suddenly, being out drinking didn’t sound as good as it used to.

[Saul Sticks]

“I still can’t let you hurt him.” Saul was pretty sure it was the wrong thing to say, but the sudden intensity of the situation had his blood pumping. There were two things that made a Sticks feel better: cursing and hitting someone. A fight was a rare opportunity at a good excuse for the latter, and Saul wouldn’t pass it up. The man considered Saul, and for a moment, it looked as if he was going to pass on this fight. He turned away but, just as Saul began to let down his guard, spun back and threw a sharp blow at Saul’s face. Saul was too drunk to duck the blow. Besides, it was one of his rules to always take the first punch; it gave him a good excuse to fight back. Still, if there was one thing Saul’s childhood had taught him, it was how to take a blow. He clenched his jaw and turned with the punch and did it better than he ever had before. His drunken state had him more relaxed than he usually was in a fight, and it made turning with the blow smoother. It didn’t, however, help him maintain his balance. His unsteadiness, coupled with the strength of the man who had hit him, spun him around and caused him to stumble into the bar where he had been sitting. His feet were having trouble finding where they wanted to be, and it was keeping Saul from getting into the fight. None of that mattered though, because once the first blow had been thrown, Sam threw himself into the fight wholeheartedly. Launching himself over Saul, Sam hit their opponent with a wild haymaker that seemed to involve every muscle in his body. He may have been small, but Sam was a fighter through and through. Not to mention, he was a Sticks, and every Sticks loved a fight. The big man hit the ground and didn’t move. While Saul pulled himself up on the bar, Sam gloated. “Haha. How do you like me now?” As happy as Saul was for Sam’s assistance, he couldn’t help but be pissed at Sam’s inability to know when to stop. The man’s friends had been concerned for him, but at Sam’s continued mockery, they turned their thoughts from concern to vengeance. They started after Sam, but he ducked nimbly backward. As adept as Saul was at taking a blow, Sam was equal or better at evading one. Dodging backward though, he soon found himself up against the bar with nowhere to run. Fortunately, he managed to shove the closest person between himself and his assailants. Unfortunately, that person was Saul, and he was still trying to find his feet. The first man hit Saul with a blow equal to the one that had started the fight. This time, unprepared, Saul was taken off his feet. From his vantage point on the ground, Saul watched the three men step over him on their way to Sam. Somewhere, past the haze of the pain in his face, Saul realized angrily that he hadn’t hit anyone yet. As the last man approached him, Saul reared his leg back, then drove it forward into the unsuspecting man’s knee. It brought the response expected it would. The man screamed and dropped to the ground like a sack of bricks. Rolling over, Saul used his momentum to put more force behind the blow he delivered to the fallen man’s face. The screaming stopped. Saul smiled. That had felt good. Then a fist crashed into the back of his head, driving him back into the floor.

[Saul Sticks]

Instinct told Saul to curl into a ball, protecting his gut and diaphragm and covering his face with his arms curled over his head. It gave him the opportunity to sneak a quick glance and see where the other two were now. Both of them had turned on him when they had heard their friend cry out in pain. Now, they seemed intent on causing him an equal amount in return. Several vicious kicks were aimed at his face, but Saul took them against his forearms. Keeping up his guard, he waited for a moment to hit back. It came quickly, especially with their full focus turned on him. He was glad drunk people had short attention spans. The two had already forgotten about Sam, and he made one of them pay for it dearly. A moment before it happened, Saul saw it coming. From behind the smaller of the two men, Sam reared his fist back and swung as hard as he could, driving his fist in to the man’s side where he thought a kidney might exist. The man dropped to the ground, and Sam fell on top of him, throwing as many punches into the man’s ribs and face as he could. As seemed to be every drunk’s problem in this fight so far, the last man kicking Saul lost his concentration and turned on Sam. It was the only opportunity Saul needed. He rolled on to his hands and knees. It felt fast to him, but in truth, it was a clumsy motion. But this was drunken fight, and no one except Sam was moving quickly. The roll put him where he needed to be before the man could get to Sam. Saul was not above cheap shots. He hadn’t started this fight, and so far, he was the one taking the worst beating. He drove his fist into the man’s groin. It wasn’t enough to drop the man, but it stunned him and caused his arms to drop. With the moment of distraction, Saul stood to his feet by dragging himself up a table. Then, he turned on the man. It took Saul longer to stand up than he thought, because when he turned toward his opponent, the man was facing him, furious and arms up, ready for a fight. Saul brought his arms up in front of them and briefly wondered at how they seemed to float upward. Fighting drunk made him feel loose, the way he never felt in a normal fight. His muscles seemed to coil and release easier as he threw a few jabs at his opponent’s face. That brought the desired result. The other man lifted his hands, leaving his gut unprotected. Saul threw a wide-sweeping haymaker with his left, and his opponent responded beautifully, raising one arm even higher and farther from his body to block the blow. In his ever-increasing drunken haze, Saul saw the opening and took it. Holding his hand half-curled so his middle knuckles made the tip of his striking surface, he drove them into the man’s gut just beneath his sternum. Somewhere, sometime, someone had told him that blow penetrated deeper than others. Whether or not that was true didn’t matter. What mattered was the result, and it was exactly what Saul was hoping for. The man crumpled, and Saul knocked him to the ground with one more solid blow to his jaw. Searching for Sam, he found him still beating the unconscious man beneath him. Saul nearly outweighed Sam by a full half another human being. It came in handy while he separated his little brother from his victim. One hand gripped the back of Sam’s shirt at his neck, and like a mother scruffing a pup, Saul lifted Sam up off the man. Before Sam realized it was Saul, he took a swing at him. Saul took it in the shoulder and shoved Sam toward the door. As Saul made his way toward the door, he dropped a couple golden mizas on the bar. He wasn’t sure what hurt more, the muscles stretching over his ribs or letting go of coin. No real damage had been done. A table and a few chairs had been tipped, but nothing had been broken. Still, there was no sense in burning any bridges. “Sorry for the mess.”

[Saul Sticks]

Sam skipped out into the street ahead of Saul. “Haha. We showed them what for. I bet you that last one I had pisses blood for a week.” Saul shoved Sam up against the closest wall he could find. “Don’t you ever do that to me again.” Sam feigned that his feelings were hurt. “Woah, woah, Saul. I didn’t start that fight.” “Bullshit. You pissed those boys off.” Sam slipped out of Saul’s grasp. “That don’t matter. We won.” “Yeah? And how many times did you get hit?” Sam smiled that irritating, winning smile of his. “It ain’t my fault you’re slow, Saul. One thing you can’t deny is that I had your back.” Saul wasn’t sure if he was too drunk to care or if Sam had made a good point, but he forgot his anger and let any issue he had with Sam go. When it came down to it, Sam had leapt on top of Saul’s assailants every time Saul had needed him to. Then again, Sam had made every single one those men their enemies. “Alright, then,” Saul muttered. “Let’s head home.” “I want to drink more, Saul.” Sam said, starting back off toward the bar. Saul caught Sam by the shirt. Though he was drunker than he had been for a long time, the relaxed feeling in his muscles made him quicker than he normally was. Sam couldn’t escape him. “Over my dead body are you going back there. You’d be lucky to make it to tomorrow alive. You’re going nowhere but home.” Sam gave Saul his smile again and played the part of a concerned brother. “But what about you, Saul? How are you gonna make it home safe?” “You aren’t pulling that shit on me,” Saul stated flatly. “I know your schemes. I’m not going home until I know you’re in your place.” Saul never let go of Sam’s shirt until he shoved his little brother through his front door, despite all of Sam’s protests that he’d be fine and that he deserved to decide things for himself. Convinced he had done his part in keeping his little brother out of trouble, Saul made his way toward his own apartment. He didn’t care if Sam slipped back out. As far as Saul was concerned, if Sam did head back to the bar, that was on him, along with whatever everybody else decided to do to him. The true extent of how drunk he was didn’t hit him until a few hallways away from Sam’s apartment. His feet stopped working the way they were supposed to. Every movement began to feel more sluggish, and the walls began to shift on him. Several times, he stopped, certain he was going to vomit, but the momentary pause in movement kept him from getting that far. He’d always prided himself on having a strong stomach. Still, he had had too much.

[Saul Sticks]

He got lost on his way back to his own apartment. Brat would certainly have an earful for him when he made it back. If he made it back. For several minutes, he stared at an intersection of halls in the Castle. No direction appeared different from any of the others, because all the walls were made of the same monotonous stone. It was probably just his imagination, but he thought he felt a breeze coming from one of the halls. All that went through his head was what Brat said about how the air in the Castle around their apartment was still and lifeless. He turned away from the breeze, and in a half a bell found himself in familiar corridors. Finally identifying his apartment, he made his way to it and struggled to get his key out of his pocket. His control over his body was quickly leaving him. When he finally managed to pull his key out, he dropped it. “Shit,” he whispered quietly. He was trying to keep his voice down, so Brat wouldn’t wake. It didn’t matter. She had been waiting for him. The door swung inward, and Brat stood in the doorway, glaring angrily at him. “Where have you be-” She stopped when she saw how buggered his face was. “What the petch happened?” Briefly, Saul considered saying something about Brat’s language, but his mind was already in a fragile state from the effects of alcohol. That, and Brat had used that word to express concern for him. He couldn’t chew her out for that. Grabbing Saul’s hand, Brat picked up his key for him and pulled him into their home. Sitting him down in a chair at their table, she repeated her question as she went for a towel to wet in the water basin. “What the petch happened, Saul?” Even in the confusion of his drunkenness, Saul recognized the lack of the title uncle in front of his name. His mind wasn’t sharp enough to formulate that observation into a question, so he let it go and instead answered her question. “I met your dad while I was out.” “You should have known to leave as soon as you saw him.” She brought the towel over and began dabbing a bleeding wound on his temple. Anger began to outweigh the concern. “You shouldn’t’ve been there to begin with.” “Says who?” “Says me. I ain’t gonna argue about this. You got the shit beat outta you. The reasons don’t get more obvious than that.” She started dabbing another wound. Saul winced as some of the pain made it through the numbing of the alcohol. “You’re too good to me.” She shook her head. “You’re just saying that ‘cause you’re drunk.” “No, I’m not. I real mean it. I don’t deserve you.” Brat smiled at that as she moved to one of the wounds on his knuckles. “Damn right, you don’t. But you’re a lucky petcher, ‘cause you have me anyhow.” “That word, Brat. It isn’t classy.” She smirked. “Know what else ain’t classy, Saul? Getting shitfaced.” Saul managed to nod as his head began to droop toward his chest. “You’re right.” Brat finished cleaning the cuts on his knuckles. “Of course, I’m right. I always am.” She kissed the top of his head goodnight. “Now sleep it off.”

[Konrad Venger]

Saul XP: Socialization - 2 Observation - 1 Endurance - 2 Brawling - 3 Lore: Sam Sticks: Irritating Brother, Negligent Father Take the First Blow and Get all the Justification you Need Brawling: Nothing is Beneath You Brat: Too Good for the Likes of Me Click Me! : I would have given you some nasty injuries, but since this was a season ago, they would have healed up by now. I also replaced Unarmed Combat with Brawling, since it seemed much more applicable than any kind of organized fighting style. You call it "drunken fighting" yourself at one point, which brawling suits much more! As always, I love your dialogue with Brat, and your cousin. What a wanker, eh? But family is family... nice job and great little scrap, I enjoyed reading this. Oh, and please make sure you go back and edit your post in the Request Thread to reflect the fact this one is now done and dusted. PM me with any questions and later 'tater!