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Post by GingerMetuchenPI on Dec 27, 2012 12:42:59 GMT -5
When night finally fell on the town of Gwangi it was clear where most of the citizens would go; the bar. The wooden structure that was nearly empty during the day started to fill in. Competitors, travelers, drunks and anyone who wanted something to numb their brains had come by.
With so many different people all drinking at once, there was bound to be a fight. I mean, what's a western without a bar fight?
((okay kids, write up your post and start chatting and fighting. I'll join in soon. ))
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Post by Eddy O'Saka on Dec 28, 2012 4:05:25 GMT -5
There was hardly a night at the local bar without it's trusted patron sitting at his trusted spot at the corner of the bar, with his trusted bottle of whiskey infront of it. Well, he always did get a glass to his order, why he didn't know. Manners, probably, the bottle alone would've done perfectly fine though, for he knew in the end it would be empty anyway.
He had slipped into a bit more melancholie mood with the s3cobd half of the bottle, absent mindedly watching the feather on his hat, that lay beside him on the bar, while playing with his fingers around therim of the glass. He wasn't here to puck a fight, he never was anywhere to pick a fight. He used to be a teacher. He used to study in the city. And now he sat here, like he always did. How sad. Behind him the bar became louder and louder, locals mixing with the many new faces, that had come due to the tournament. Hopefully tonight they wouldn't all start bashing each others heads in, again. He still could taste the blood from the bloody lip it had caused him yesterday.
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Post by Dox on Dec 28, 2012 18:13:02 GMT -5
There were people. So many people. Far too many people, for Dean's tastes. Granted, any amount of persons was too much, but there seemed to be a surplus in the building. All wanted some sort of drink or entertainment, perhaps to draw the mind's eye away from the heat of the day or the stress of simply living. The tedious droll of daily life takes it's toll. Distraction is required, entertainment a must.
The noise nearly drove him mad, so many people talking, moving, yelling, drinks clicking against the bar and against each other. Busybodies interacting and cloth rustling. Constant noise.
Dean hissed, glancing over his shoulder at the people, a low gurgle in his torn throat as he clenched his drink. The more people arrived, the more frustrated he became. He had no patience for chitter. Nor people. But then again, when did he ever? What he needed, maybe more than a drink, was some method of letting out his frustration. He rolled his shoulders, thew back the remnants of his drink, and rose from his seat at the bar. He turned to examine the room, all the faces, those sniveling brats who thought they were all that, the old men sitting with their drinks in the corners. A glance back at the bartender and he almost cracked a smile. There was the odd face that stood out as abnormal, but it was the clinking of coin and shuffle of cards that attracted his attention. Drunks gambling had always been of some amusement to him. He ambled over to one of the tables, noting his own slight drunkenness, and watched for a moment. Men winning and loosing, grudges, bad attitudes.
Something in the man's tone that annoyed him. Half his face was ruined, burned into some ugly mass. Dean snorted to himself, feeling irritation rise. He tapped the man's shoulder, swinging his fist into that ugly face as soon as he could. A slight grin broke on his face. This might just be fun.
It was probably a good thing his wife still hadn't arrived.
[[ WELL IT WAS STARTED LUCAS DOES YOUR FACE HURT NOW
omfg this is seriously the worst thing I've written in a while HALP ]]
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Post by vladimir on Dec 28, 2012 19:06:33 GMT -5
It wasn't easy looking for gold. Lucas had spent the last three years running up and down the Western coast searching for a mine that hadn't been tapped, and now his last hope, Nevada, proved just as futile an endeavor as every other acclaimed gold mine. He didn't doubt that there had been gold there once, but by now every hick, his wife and ten kids had settled down in any and every place of moderate promise and wiped the place clean. That pissed him right off, and the alcohol wasn't helping. He'd gone through all the stages of inebriation native to him, he realized: the cheerful drunk, the sad drunk as he reminisced about the failure of his gold hunting, and now the angry drunk. Every single time someone had the nerve to sit down too close to him, another little flare of rage boiled up between his ribs, every new card dealt and every word exchanged between his thoughts of striking out in the gold business raising his blood pressure a little more. Why, he was so mad that he could clock the guy sitting across the table from him right in the smug face, break all those teeth and see how confident he was about his smile after that. He would have if someone didn't clock him in the face first.
As soon as that hand settled on his shoulder, Lucas had begun to turn to face this new adversary, his fist already balled and cocked to throw a punch. Then his world turned black, white and red, his vision clearing a moment after the pain hit him-- there was blood in his mouth, and he'd realized that he'd bit through his tongue when the fist hit him. Alright, he had no idea who was attacking him, but he was already done with this. Without any hesitation, Lucas worked up the blood as it came and spat it into the face of his opponent, grabbing the man by the collar. With that, he swung his headback and brought it forwards as hard as he could in a headbutt directed at whoever-this-fucker-is's mouth.
Hell hath no fury like a drunk Lucas scorned.
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Post by GingerMetuchenPI on Dec 28, 2012 20:03:59 GMT -5
Hindrick sat in the corner of the crowded bar furiously writing in his notebook. A healthy glass of ale sat before him only slightly touched. The man was far too busy writing about his current side study. These people were far different from what he had encountered before, so he felt the need to document their habits.
It took the man far too long toe realize a fight had started off near the poker table. The man looked up, blinked and looked back down at his notes. Maybe he should stop this before before he lost his work. Hindrick slammed his book closed, slipped it into his side bag and sat back to watch as the fight broke out as he spilled his ale. Ahh, at least these hicks could fight.
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Post by Dox on Dec 28, 2012 20:50:51 GMT -5
Granted, he hadn't exactly been expecting retaliation. At least, not that readily. Dean stumbled back a couple of steps and hissed again, pretty much the only real sound able to come out of his shredded windpipes, grappling for something to keep himself steady and wiping blood from his eyes. In his flailing a hand connected with a man's face, and he shoved it back in order to keep his balance. He blinked, reaching up to wipe his sleeve over his mouth and straightening himself. Whoever he was, the man had a hard head. An ugly one too.
Though, he was one to speak.
All-too eagerly he cracked his knuckles and tilted his head, glancing quickly around himself to be sure no one dared try him from behind, or while he wasn't looking. It was bound to happen. But, before then, he took one heavy step forward and land a fist in the other man's jaw, reaching forward with his other hand to keep the man close. Oh, it had been too long since his last fight. A few weeks was a long time to go without beating the shit out of a man.
Maybe he could knock some teeth out this time.
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Post by vladimir on Dec 28, 2012 21:35:33 GMT -5
No sooner had Lucas pulled away from the headbutt than he saw a hand flying at his face. It was instinct and luck that forced him to duck down enough to avoid having a thumb jabbed up his eye socket. When he moved to turn away, he found that he was being yanked forwards to keep him from escaping, a fist smashing into his mouth before he could think of anything to do to escape. Again, white-red-black, again the momentary haze; Lucas ran his tongue along the inside of his teeth as he waited for his ability to think to return and observed that one was loose. Ah well, nothing for it. When finally his cognition returned to him, he found that he had not been released. Alright, this degenerate wanted to get close, they could get close.
Reaching back blindly, Lucas found a bottle of unknown identity, grabbed it and slammed it down on Dean's head. He saw, to his dismay, that the bottle had been half full. What a waste of good alcohol, basting this maimed fucker's skull.
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Post by GingerMetuchenPI on Dec 28, 2012 22:18:55 GMT -5
Hindrick watched as the fight went from two people to three to four and so on. It eventually infected the whole bar as people got up and started throwing punches and kicking anything that moved. It was funny how quickly fights like this developed, too many drunk in such a small place. The fight reached the man rather quickly and he suddenly had a man laying out on his table looking very dazed. Well no was the time if any to join in and show these hicks how a real bar brawl went.
The man downed the rest of his ale and slammed the glass on the table right as another man took a swing at him. The Russian grinned in a way that would only fit fighting and easily ducked the drunken blow. He stood up, gripped the table and flipped it, causing the man and glass to land on the floor, one with a loud thud and the other with a smash. The man that took a swing at the doctor gave a curse and pointed at Rospev in a terribly drunken stance. The drunk went for a grapple and got the doctor around his waist. But eh doctor reacted quickly by bringing an elbow swiftly down on the man's back followed by a knee to the man's stomach.
The drunk grunted and loosened his grip to fall to the floor in pain. The doctor surveyed his work right as a fist smashed into is face. He staggered and looked up, a bruise forming on his check and hair starting to come undone. The Russian plowed into the man a split second later and rammed him into another group that was fighting. The two that started this whole mess. (MAWHAHAHH)
The drunk fell onto the mute man. Rospev held his ground, but looked a tad bizarre fighting in a suit.
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Post by Dox on Dec 28, 2012 23:03:09 GMT -5
Dean sputtered as some form of liquor drenched him, soaking his hair and threateningly close to his eyes. His grip on Lucas loosed slightly, but as soon as he was able to overcome the shock of being hit with the bottle --damn that had hurt-- he threw his fist forward again, this time letting go and allowing for the other man to fall back. Some noise gurgled at the back of his throat, nearly a warning as he slung his now alcohol-saturated coat from his shoulders. Before he could move again, however, someone slammed into him. He grunted, wrestling with the man and trying desperately to get out from underneath. He wanted to hit the guy with the ugly face again.
This just might have to do until he had the chance again. With a broken growl he rolled the man off, landing the odd blow as he struggled. A quick glance at the man that had thrown the drunk at him told Dean more than enough. This would most likely not end well for him.
But then again, when did it ever?
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Post by vladimir on Dec 28, 2012 23:18:51 GMT -5
Lucas had some time to rejoice in his success and the dumbass look on Dean's face before he was punched again. This time to the tooth fell out, and he fumbled with it using his tongue and lips, spitting it out reflexively as the back of his head cracked against the floor. Well, that was for the best; he didn't want to die from choking on a tooth he lost in a bar fight. With a grunt of fury, he lashed out blindly at Dean, snapping one leg out in a kick aimed at the maim'd man's knee. It was a cruel, animal instinct which drove Lucas at that moment. He'd seen the leg drag earlier; it was a weak point to be exploited.
Did he regret the dirty blow? No, not really. He was rolling about on the floor of a wild west bar with blood streaming from his ruined tongue and his gum-loosed teeth, scuffling with some ugly sonovabitch, and he was enjoying the violence profusely. At this point, cheap blows meant nothing to him.
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Post by GingerMetuchenPI on Dec 28, 2012 23:59:14 GMT -5
Hindrick raised an eyebrow as Dean pushed the drunk man off him and turned to glare. Oh he could see why the fight started now. The man that stood before him just reeked of frustration and pent up rage. This might be a bit of challenge. Dean was distracted by Lucas kicking him, giving Hindrick a few precious seconds. The doctor shrugged his jacket off and threw it to the corner where his bag was. he didn't want to rip is jacket, it was his only one.
The drunk he threw at dean had gotten up and took a swing at anyone he kind hit. Hindrick took the blow with his forearm and swung his own fist at the man's face. The was a loud crack and the man fell to the ground form the force. By the time Hindrick refocused Dean would have gotten his footing back. But the mute might be more focused on Lucas at the moment.
(( my fight scenes are so corny. omg please stop me. ))
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Post by Dox on Dec 29, 2012 0:39:56 GMT -5
Seething and growling, would-be words choked their way out of his throat as he struggled to take the blows to his bad leg. This might not've been the smartest thing, and Dean was realizing he was probably just a little bit more drunk than he had originally thought. Brilliant. He groaned and rolled over and away, clutching the leg for a moment. He needed to get back into this. With a cough Dean staggered upright, glancing around warily. Both men were probably waiting for him.
Even though he knew he didn't have the time, the sight of an unbroken bottle of liquor was too inviting. In the seconds he had he grabbed the thing, downed a good swig, and turned back to whoever it was that was ready to be punched. Or, more likely, whoever was ready to punch him. He could to this. Dean could handle it. God help him if he survived. His wife would have to be contended with still.
With a deciding glance he swung to grab Lucas by the collar, hissing and yanking him up to follow through by tossing him towards Hindrick. He was too drunk for this shit.
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Post by Eddy O'Saka on Dec 29, 2012 3:53:40 GMT -5
Before Eddy could even finish the thought about how he hoped this would be a night without a fight in the bar, he already heard the unmistakeable sound of men groani g and fists smashing. Why? Why could they not beat the crap out of eachother, for one? Was probably the amount of testosteron in this room or something. Well, whatever it was, it obviously didn't do the trick for him. He probably should've stayed at home. His house was nice. Getting nicer by the day actually with his new lodger. Yes, he probably should've stayed at home and gotten drunken there.
Well, maybe he could somehow creep out of here, without a fist in his face, for once.
"Ohmai.", was all he mumbled, before grabbing his bottle of whiskey, sneaking of his chair and trying to get through all the mayhem without getting all to much noticed and even less involved
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Post by vladimir on Dec 29, 2012 11:05:46 GMT -5
There were moments in his life where Lucas had wondered what it would be like to fly. He had watched skyrangers on their pterosaurs, flocks of smaller species making their way north or south or wherever it was they went, and he had envied their freedom, he had found intrigue in their ability to traverse the entire continent... nay, globe, simply by virtue of their nature. Now, exactly now Lucas knew what it was like to fly. And Jesus H. Christ this shit was scary as hell, as soon as the choke hold on his collar slung him into the air, he was overcome with the intense desire to come back down. As soon as he began to come back down and saw that it was the stout Russian-from-Hell he was descending upon, he wanted to retrace his trajectory right back to the point of origin and stay there. But, gravity was a bitch, and there was nothing he could do about this other than use the three seconds of flight time he had to decide how best to take Hindrick by aerial surprise.
Bringing his knees up to his chest, Lucas prepared until he was only three feet above Hindrick before kicking forwards at the stout fellow's chest, an action which was actually as inconvenient as it was dramatic, because regardless of whether or not it actually worked, Lucas still landed smack on his ass on the middle of a broken-glass filled table and why, why, why. Without thinking, he vaulted off, grabbed a chair and brandished it like a cudgel, threatening to brain anyone who came too close to him.
((bawh I can't actually attack Eddy, I CAN'T DO IT.))
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Post by GingerMetuchenPI on Dec 29, 2012 12:51:43 GMT -5
((DAMN IT. I DUN WANT TO HURT EDDY BUT HE CAN'T LEAVE))
The doctor's eyes widened as the smaller man was tossed at him. He took the blow to his chest and fell down onto a nearby broken chair, but not before grabbing Lucas' leg. He might have been downed, but his reactions were quick. The russian pulled Lucas' leg out from under him resulting in Lucas in a heap on the floor. The chair came clattering down with him and landed within an inch from Hindrick's face. The man grinned and sat up from his place on the floor. He eyed Lucas and grabbed the by the arm. With some grace he stood them both up. He had some morals and didn't like leaving people on the floor to get trampled. "Get on with it," he rumbled and pushed Lucas from his grasp.
Just as the drunken Eddy was about to escape from the bar and large drunk threw a chair in his direction. It smashed onto the bar and feel with a clatter right in front of Eddy. Apparently the man didn't want anyone leaving.
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