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Lee sounds more anxious than determined when he says he has to go deal with the Perse goons for Eugene and Leutrim, throwing on his spring jacket as he forces himself to cross the lobby and push through the doors. But as soon as his wide blue eyes go to and trace the tall, sturdy outlines of the two street-clothed men standing at the curb, his brows drop lower, narrowing his gaze into an expression of stern annoyance. He'd been dreading the jolt of memory that would come from that awful incident of four months back, but there is... nothing at all. Not one sensory memory from the experience, only the words after the fact, spoken or on paper, born from imperfect memories and lacking any real detail. He can deal with those. "Jones.. Baoi." They turned to face him and there was a kind of jolt, but from another incident entirely, the anniversary of which is fast approaching, and all he feels is the same old loathing that prompts him now to say, "No casual visits to intensive care patients. Should know bedda. So try again in a few," he concludes vaguely, so that the medically-trained professionals couldn't form any accurate guesses on the injuries from a healing timeframe.
EMT Cicero Jones gazes at the young man with negligent contempt, smiling amusedly at his obvious animosity. "Oh I know," he grins wide, red-stained teeth showing that the substance he's been chewing on isn't spearmint gum. "But just think, if those fool civvies fleein' the scene hadn't run head-on into each other in our path, the Mercy would've been the first EMV on site. Woman would've been at Persephone Gen, and doin' so much /beddah/ than she probably is here," he sighs, throwing in that mocking imitation of Lee's accent, earning an adorable scowl. At least other folks might think it adorable. Jones just rolls his eyes away dismissively.
EMT Harold Baoi keeps mostly quiet, as usual, his brooding dark eyes and thick expressive brows doing all the talking necessary. The look of furtive, expectant familiarity in that stare gives Lee the uneasy notion that the Ambulance driver has seen and knows of him much more than Lee has seen or learned about Baoi in return. His only verbal response to the talk is a grunt, a shrug, and a muttered, "/I/ didn't wanna see her." He shakes his canned energy soda, finds it empty, and twisty-crushes it between his big hands before pitching it into one of the MWC's outdoor trash receptacles with a powerful overhand throw that emphasizes the length and thickness of his arm even in its sweater sleeve.
"'Course you didn't," Jones grunts back with a slight eye-roll. "You gave me a lift downtown without me askin' 'cause you love the smell of catburgers." He spits a wad of red-stuff into the gutter. Lovely.
Lee makes a face, looks around plaintively for Dale.
Dale would be glad to know that that incident hadn't hurt Lee, but he should figure it wouldn't all things considered. Especially since he took great pains to make sure the whole incident four months ago was overshadowed by other more pleasant sensations. As he comes out of the building and overhears the conversation he senses the loathing in Lee's tone. Stalking towards them he jangles the keys in the palm of his hand as though they are warding off evil. Jangle, Jangle, tinkle. "Ah, you two" he remarks with a casual wave of his hand in a tone which suggests that it is providence which has brought these two 'arch enemies' into his path. It's not like he can't take on Baoi and Jones both if he wanted to, and in all actuality it looks like he's ready to today with the sizzling spark of anger behind his eyes. He saunters in, protector and lover and he knows it. It's clear all over his face and his expression, eyes just snapping at them both as though daring them to try something. His arm drapes around Lee's shoulders and his nostrils flare slightly. "Just give me a reason, boys" those eyes seem to say. Instead, he speaks somewhat tonelessly, "Eugene needs peace right now, we're just heading out." There's nothing on the end of that pose except the tone which suggests that either their heading out to have hot angry monkey sex or act like angry manic monkeys. It's very likely the latter of the two.
Lee keeps his head turned, watching Dale's approach and settle by his side, their shadows moving across the plastiglass of the doors closing behind them. The weight of arm across his shoulders looks casual but Lee imagines(?) he can feel the potential energy humming from the muscles, shivering with the need to flex and stretch and bunch in more extreme activity. He's not afraid of being crushed, although he'd already offered in so many words and actions, to help Dale blow off the tension. No dice. Dale would never! Lee, bravado hiding the essential wuss, is rather relieved. "Righ'. We're done here," he points out for the benefit of all parties, and starts away from the clinic.
EMT Jones looks Dale over with interest, automatically assessing the earmarks of violence on his person. "I'm good with that. Woman's got an ounce of life, she'll hang onto it," he opines smugly, rearing his posture into one of supreme Alpha authority now that a similar built male has entered the area. He appears to be mulling something over past his hard-jawed countenance, shorn head bending lower for a moment while the Chief and Intern start away. "You know. You look like you need to get right outta the city. City's full of trouble to get into," he says leadingly, yes, he knows Dale has that undefined sense of trouble to him. He hasn't lost that instinct from his squad days in the Alliance 55th Mechanized Division. "But with your shiny rep it'd be costly. Ever heard of Black Dee's out past the south limits? Good drink, edible eats. No patrols." He smiles winningly, and makes a c'mon gesture to Baoi, who frowns questioningly but falls into step.
Epona's battered vehicle is waiting on the opposite side of the street, amongst others in a narrow parking lane. Jones starts in that direction as well, putting a slight stumble into Lee's step when he notices. The young man pauses over the information then, glancing up at Dale obliquely. "Think I remember passin' by that place while hitchin' to Southdown Abbey last summer," he says matter-of-factly. "It is beyond regular patrol space." Lee hasn't even considered the remote possibility of considering the military, but he does have the advantage of knowing Dale better than Jones does. Forcing some of his personal distaste for the goon away, he nods to acknowledge Jones' casual suggestion.
The young man is quite correct; Dale could never bring himself to do what had been suggested. "Black Dee's" Dale rolls the name over in his mind, he's heard mention of it from time to time. "Can't say that I've been there" When Lee mentions the Abbey and hitching rides his brows knit faintly but his entire focus is on Jones right now. Had Dale known that Baoi had attempted to run over him that one time he might be a little more concerned about being in the presence of the man, at the moment, he dismisses him as not a threat. "Looking for distraction" he murmurs, the words indicating that distraction of the pleasant kind isn't his intent. "Yeah, I am at that." His arm slips away from his partner as he studies Jones directly. He doesn't hook his fingers in his pants; one hand still holds the keys as the palm of the other is bound in the white bandage. His lips turn up in a slight curl, "I think my rep can handle it" He looks the man up and down, something dark and savage licking in his iris'. "This place sounds perfect, just what the Doc ordered." He drawls as he glances over his shoulder at Lee. "Let's get directions and go. If you're tagging along, better haul it." He turns then and strides towards Epona's car, decision made abruptly.
The eyeballing from Dale gets a brow-lift from Cicero Jones, and a 'y'think?' kind of lopsided grin. His gaze promises nothing, turning back on his workmate afterwards. "I'll navigate," he says to Baoi, who grumbles something about needing to get home some time, not like it's the week-end bar night. "Shut up and drive, like you really wanna go home to your nice safe potroast and port," Jones snorts. Baoi grinds his jaw but makes no further protest. "Right behind you kids," promises Jones more loudly to the younger duo.
"I know the way," Lee assures, resigning himself to the idea that their party of two has grown into four. Obviously they're not all piling into the personal vehicle to which Dale has been entrusted the keys, unwisely!, by their worried ambulance driver. Jones and Baoi branch away to go to a family-sized private MULE another couple of cars down the line. Lee, circling Epona's wheels to the shotgun side, glances briefly after them... and stumbles again. He stares as the EMTs clamber up into the midnight-painted MULE, an image of horror swimming up from the deep dark and juxtapositioning itself overtop his current line of sight... then snapping away. Is that car...? Is it the one? His lips quiver into a silent half-expletive, then he swallows and quickly swings into his own seat after Dale pops the locks on the doors. He glances at Dale's determined profile, but says nothing, merely gesturing the initial direction they need to take to get onto the service road that will bypass the Eavesdown Docks and get their vehicles on a heading south away from the city core. That road is long, it turns several times out of necessity to go around some deep dry lakes and muddy fens. Lee is quiet, thinking, eyes flicking to the sideviews to observe the other MULE as it follows along steadily behind, while his mind labours over and over the memory of that black night in August 2524. The yell of warning, the screaming treads, grinding gears, the dull flash of streetlights on tinted windows. His heart going cold as he lost sight of Dale completely for that one second that was all the time necessary for everything good to be ended forever.
He blinks out of it with a gasp, out of one nightmare and into another, as the next time he glances into one of the sideviews, the MULE is RIGHT the HELL on their bumper. A mere nudge on the throttle would bring the dust-choked guards together in a brutal kiss. "Fuckers.." he grrs under his breath, bracing himself for Dale's acceleration... at least he hopes that's how the man's going to deal with the extreme tailgating.
If only Dale knew what was going through Lee's head, but sadly he's not a psychic. He's too wrapped up in wrath to consider the color and make of the vehicle but he might later when he's more himself. He smiles when he notes that Epona's car has an interesting stereo system setup and he flips on some music...and gets French Rap. He eyeballs Lee mock-suspiciously. At first the drive is just that, wind whipping through his hair and his boyfriend's scent at his side mollifying the beast within. The sounds of the main hum of Perse drift away as they hit the service roads. Adrenalin is guiding his every movement now as he hasn't slept very well since the shooting. "Faster huh?" he mutters to himself as he changes gears and pushes the MULE forward. He'll show them. There's a sudden incline and he maneuvers the MULE slightly so that he is suddenly off the road, this brings them close to a guard rail and nearly results in getting damage to Epona's car. Dale manages to avoid major damage however with a few shifts of the wheel and a couple of heart-stopping sweeps.
"Christ on a fucking tank." He swears, "Stupid boulder in the way." He glances over his shoulder and shakes his fist at it. He slows down and since they are on the hill, they are now now BEHIND the pair of EMTs and he cackles wildly. "Show 'em who's boss." He shifts gears again and revs the engine. Zooom! Hellooo boyz.
EMT Baoi does not want to be here, on this road trip, going to some out of the way shack with his outrageously gung-ho workmate, and the blue-eyed devil he repents ever laying.. eyes.. on, and the blue-eyes's seething boyfriend who may or may not have recognized his personal vehicle. It's a Bad Scene all around, but then the past year has been revving and rolling inexorably to this day, to which all the stupid, confused, and /sick/ turns he's made point like one-way arrows on the road of life. But if he has to be here and in the driver's seat, then he is /here/, and he is going to /win/ this stockcar race. What else to expect from Baoi's thought processes than road warrior metaphors?
"Whatta couple of grannies on a Sunday motor," laughs Jones. "Go on, let's take a look in their trunk." So Baoi hits the acceleration, and with a smooth done-this-a-thousand-times leap forward, all but pins his MULE to the other's bumper. His pulse fires as from this new proximity he can look through the dusty rear windshield and see Lee sinking down in his seat tensely. Then the car is speeding away hectically, kicking up a windstorm of dust behind it as it goes halfway onto the shoulder. With a spin of steering column, Baoi pulls wide of the billowing cloud, small rocks bouncing off the tinted plastiglass, and races ahead to clearer visibility. "Shit," grumbles Jones, a hint of concern creeping into his usually iron-tough tone as he tries to spy the other car through all the fog of debris.
EMT Baoi spares his co-worker a wary sidelong glance, as some suspicions are confirmed. First calling off the soccer match to spare the MWC Lambs a default elimination due to various members of their team being incapacitated by the Xmas Day Massacre. And then not saying word one against the MWC folks they used to have so much fun mocking. And then all but picking up the EMV Mercy and carrying it /around/ the ensuing traffic accidents when the emergency channels were filled with chatter about the shooting at the BHG and the Soh woman said to be the one gunned down. And now, today, trying to see her, taking her idiot boss and her idiot boss's boytoy out to the boonies for a round drinks, and getting /worried/ about /them/? "...What're we doing here, Jones?" he suddenly asks, his voice low and dull.
Suddenly, the Chief's car carooms into view, now behind them and coming up fast. As the windshield clears of excess dust, they can't here but /can/ see the maniacal laughter. "Christ..!" grates Baoi, jumping in his seat. But Jones snorts, "Crazy bastard. Lead on, Harry my Baoi, lead on. Don't let him on your ass, I hear it's like that saying: in like a Lion, out like a Lambsey." Baoi's knuckles grow a tad white as he throttles the vehicle forward out of the Eponamobile's reach, then down the hill at a breakneck speed. Luckily, the junction leading west into the Nemean Township is now just up ahead, which means the low brick building attached to the motor inn on the outskirts must be Black Dee's.
Lee chokes off a gutwrenching cry as their vehicle hits roadside in a spray of gravel, seeing the hill's guardrail coming up fast on the side. Dimly, he can make out the larger personal MULE zipping clear and forging ahead, with a nimble grace belying its boxy proportions. That's definitely the kind of mad stunt driving he'd witnessed the day Dale almost became chunky red salsa on the curb opposite the Flats. The analytical observation is dashed away again by Dale's.. cackling!?.. as they weave and swerve and then tear up the gradual hill after the EMT's MULE. "We're almost there, just beyond this rise," he manages, sounding ill. "Think you can show 'em who's the boss of /not/ rammin' through the taproom wall?"
Dale's cackle is gleeful after a heart-clenching spin of the wheel nearly pulls them off of the road and into the ditch. It is only the man's sheer will that keeps them steady. Oh he's got no intention of ramming the EMTs, that could lead to too many problems, he's just scarin' them a little. Poor Lee, it is a good thing there are hardly ever used seatbelts on this here MULE because Dale's last MULE jolt could make any intern lose his lunch. Frigit! He turns up the rap! He doesn't speak a word of French but that makes it all the more fun. Yo yo La La! French rap goes something like this:
Eloquence on dit koi ?
On dit qu'sait bon non ?
Des vagues de ouf sur des beats de dingue,
Putain c'est bandant
Moi j'suis un afro beau qui donnent des affres aux beaufs
Parce que ce taff ??? c'est d'tre ???
L'poque des yys c'est fini
Maintenant si tu sais pas c'que c'est,
Dale's not really paying that much attention to the words, they mean nothing to him, it's the beat that is darn cool for the moment. The ominous building which is Black Dee's comes into view and Dale glances over to make sure that Lee's still in the seat beside him. "Is that it?" He wonders the obvious as he brings the MULE about to a hovering halt. Booyah! He preens. "How was that?"
Lee being Lee, he sponges up the French Rap, a musical style that against all odds, had survived the first quarter of the twenty-first century. At least it distracts him from the feeling of his heart rising into his throat once the Eponamobile shoots over the rise and chases the other MULE down the slope. After coasting into the vehicle yard, and powering down the systems, Baoi exits the MULE a few moments after Jones, who had hopped out as soon as it had rolled to a stop. The big thick ex-soldier saunters over to wait on the porch, smiling impatiently until he can lead the way into the brick building.
Lee had made a few helpless gestures of exasperation before intimating with a mumble, "You went so fast I think I aged another year. I get /three/ beers for that." Following Dale and gaining the porch, he becomes aware of Baoi bringing up the rear, and his expression grows cold with uncharacteristic wrath. It's quelled enough by the time they get into the main taproom that the waitresses are not warded away from casting welcoming smiles their way.
Dale looks gleeful as he steps out of the Mule and pockets the keys. He needed something like that, the death-defying mule stunts, much like how he used to race with Zander when they got bored and happened to be on rim planets with interesting canyons. He catches Lee's look, "I didn't go that fast!" he protests, "Just fast enough, and three Beers." He nods, "Ok, just enough to give yeh a buzz." He reaches up and ruffles Lee's hair then slips his hand down and pats him on the rump, "But don't get drunk, I'm gonna need yeh coherent later" he promises with energetic mischief gleaming in his eyes.
Inside, the light quality currently a little dimmer than the day outside, but seems to rise yellowly as evening begins to descend. The lights are hoisted on thick chains that hang like giant cobwebs to wrap around the brick support columns placed intermittently around the taproom. Larger in floorspace than most bars in the slum, Black Dee's features the typical shallow horseshoe-shaped wet counter extending a good thirty-five feet in the middle of a hundred foot southern wall. Climbing vines of some dried, long-dead plant stretch and cling to all of the visible walls in blackened multitudes of tendrils, covering over even the old framed photos, with the exception of behind the bar, where a smoky mirror and numerous shelves of liquor. The noisy kitchen in the west wall services both the pub and the attached traveler's inn and smells of pan-fried produce, sourdough, and bacon. At this time in the early evening, three-quarters of the wooden tables and chairs are full of drinkers and diners, all ages over twenty-one looks like, and mostly rustic in dress. Notably there is a table full of black leather, which would explain the row of six tank-like hogs lining one of the walls outside.
Excellent, they have a honkytonk piano here and a real live piano man, filling the empty spaces with long rambling pieces for coin in one glass mug and malt in the other. And yay, waitresses! Three fully-dressed lasses with long ponytails and great smiles tackle several tables each but still have time to flirt. All in all, a well-done caricature of a rural tavern, and friendly-looking enough, except when you take a look at the slate board menu behind the bar: FISTY FRIEDAYS has knuckle sandwiches and black-eyed peas as the dinner feature.
"First round's on me," declares Jones as he pushes for a table on one end of the bar, and it should be noted that he doesn't jostle any of the seated patrons unnecessarily. He moves slow enough that people are displaced in a manner that could be described as courteous. "Man who starts somethin' here without buyin' a round first is shackled to the trough in back with the baked bean pans and an old toothbrush."
Dale takes a look around the place with interest, absorbing the atmosphere and adjusting his strut so as to not be too cocky but just enough to annoy Baoi, cause that's always fun. "Interesting name for a pub, wonder if it means anything" he stage whispers to Lee. Then Jones makes his announcement and Dale's eyebrows climbs, "Alright then," he gives the man a far less hostile look than he usually does when in the EMT's presence. The dangerous undertone is still there, though and possibly makes the ladies watching weak in the knees.
"Prob'ly means somethin' completely pedestrian," Lee mumbles back to Dale, standing in the man's dark aura while he waits for Jones to blaze a trail across the homey country bar, and breathing somewhat deeply, feeding off it while he continues to try and deal with the ramifications of his own discoveries. Trying not to look over his shoulder. But it's hard to maintain a decent air of tension when his lover is mussing his tuff hair and tapping his butt. "Yeh I know, you're not gettin' behind that wheel when it's time to go back," he smirks at Dale, pretending to overlook the eye gleam that just made his slacks tent a bit. Not even blind white hatred can stop the timebomb, apparently.
The object of that hot animosity is coming through the front entrance and coming up behind them just as that playful little display occurs, stopping Baoi in his tracks for a long, paranoid moment. His querying dark eyes follow along with the movements of that presumptuous hand from soft hair down to firm ass and even though Dale isn't looking at him currently, the EMT suddenly feels positive that the MWC Chief is once again getting inside his head, reading his thoughts, and taunting him with them, mercilessly. "I know you touched them both," the silky sly words come to life in his mind, "but just remember you sick secret pervert. This..?" Ruffle. "Mine. And this.." Pat-pat. "Mine as well." Incredibly, the petting seems to have the effect of drawing the fabric more tightly across Lee's seat before Baoi's very eyes. "Better than anything you'll ever have." He can't ever shake those words drawled to him on the soccer practice field, and the old compulsion to wipe that insufferable life-is-good smile off Lambsey's face comes back full-force. Then they're in motion again, ranging a straggling line into the midst of a sea of scraping chairs. clinking glances, and speculative sidelong looks.
"Not getting behind the wheel you say?" Dale remarks with mock-gruffness, but it's really quite obvious that he won't argue with the boy as he flips the keys in his palm and slips them into Lee's pocket as they comfy themselves in closer quarters. Lucky him, he gets to touch that whenever he wants. Mmm. It soothes the savage beast.
To Jones he says, "I'm not going to start anything but I sure as heck will finish it if it starts itself." He acknowledges. As they find places to sit he slides into the chair effortlessly, copper hair glinting in the dim light. As he does sit, he gets shoved slightly as people are moving about in the table next to them. He looks mildly irritated but does not react to that yet. Beer first, fisticuffs after, that's the rules, "I was in perfect control of the MULE" he tells Lee with a smug look. "I wouldn't have let it throw you." Except that they nearly hit that boulder and it would have just ended in smitherines of lamb and lion bits instead of broken limbs.
The scarred square table claimed by Jones seats four with plenty of room to spare and is the type put together with planks, closer inspection of nail grooves suggesting that the piece of furniture has been put together four or five times over. After finding that the bar is out of standard bottled beer until the next shipment, Lee reluctantly agrees to draft. The waitress looks for a moment like she's going to ask him if he's really old enough to drink, but then decides it isn't worth embarrassing the kid in front of his big manly friends. Close enough, right? And besides, the potential kinetic energy at this table is making her insides quicken.. she's waited tables at Black Dee's long enough to read the signs.. the tenuous smiles on two, the edgy frowns on the other two, but all four so brimming with heat and hormones. It'll start here, she decides, with a flicker of a smile at the copperheaded one as he orders, resisting the urge to suggest that the tie up the rest of his hair in a tail.. no, that mane will be everywhere, in his face, across his sparkling blue eyes as he... ack, down girl! She nods quickly through the big bald-headed man's repeated declaration that everyone's round is on him, grabs the credit spike tossed to her, and escapes to fill the orders speedily with her coworkers - drinks.. everyone need drinks! An appreciative murmur unifies the taproom for a few moments.
"I tend to be a self-starter, myself," Jones remarks presently to Dale, touching on the man's recent statement. "And I do follow through and go the distance and all that good shit. But I see what you're sayin', I know what went down. And there's people who're gonna get a plate heaped with hurt served up, and deserve every friggin' mouthful." That metaphor is almost something Lee himself might have come up with, if he had that tendency to violence. Perhaps that's why Jones is looking right at Lee while he says it so cheerfully..
Lee can't help a flinch at the edge of his upper lip in response, before he bites back the 'fuck you' snarl and looks aloofly away from both staring EMTs. Maybe he did deserve that humiliating punishment for remaining in his position at the clinic after operations launched it into the 'Versal spotlight. But he'll be damned if he ever sends Jones a thank you card for it. And he just wants Baoi to just /quit/ /looking/ at him like that altogether, full stop, do not WANT, do not pass GO. He grabs his draft mug and drinks, and whooaah, just keeps on drinking it down bloodymindedly. Of course, now Baoi can watch his long white throat moving and pulsing with swallows. Ah ha, he's got it now, Black Dee's must be another word for Hell. Dale will be so pleased to know.
Dale fills out his chair rather than sits into it and becomes a sharp ornament in the scope of the club, pretty in a rugged sort of way, yet dangerous as well. He eyeballs the waitress with a charming smile though, letting her absorb the full effect of the Lambsey look without really meaning to. "Alright then, at least we can agree on that, they most -certainly- will pay. I've actually asked the BHG to see if they'll let me take personal charge of the investigation." He salutes his mug to Jones and casts a glance at Lee suddenly becomes a guzzling gus. Huh? "Down the hatch it is." He has apparently not noticed Lee's discomfort, and his free hand rests on the boy's thigh. His thigh! Mmm purr rumble. The lion within likes the taste of draft as it rushes down his own throat. He laughs casually, though with little mirth. Yeah, it's gonna start here.
His fingers on Lee's leg trace a little circle, close to certain already aroused bits but go no further than that, thankfully leaving the boy alone for a bit to recuperate. "Truth be told, you two are the last people I expected to be having a drink with today." Dale states the obvious though he doesn't really need to. He assesses Baoi with a smirk, "So how's the wife and kid, kids whatever." He inquires. It could be a carefully placed innuendo, or not. Hard to tell with the way his eyes shift suddenly from Lee to Baoi. It's also a very insincere question, he doesn't really care and you can tell. Making conversation, he flips his hair back. "Next year we'll get in more practice for the football session." He tells Jones, "Then we'll see whose face gets in the mud more often, yeah?" He chuckles then as he knows he and Jones are mostly on the same wavelength when it comes to competition.
Dale's eyes roam around the bar as he speaks, fixating on little pulls to violence. The overly bouncy hyped up waitress, the piano player who seems poised and ready to play a jaunty tune at any given moment, the card game in the back and a shifty looking salesman trying to goad a guy into buying his product at a nearby table. There's also the multitude of on edge people winding down after work hours or at least trying too. Mostly, they are from less than prosperous lives and you can tell. It's the life of men and women trying to scrape out an existence in the verse and causes an undercurrent of tension when the masses gather.
Jones nods approvingly over Dale's course of action, eyeing him alertly. Yes exactly. That's what he had been speaking of, the sons of bitches who dared gun down everyone's favourite saucy Korean chick, not fancy lad Interns who lie and cheat and apparently think everything is about them. Lambsey's reputation is pretty solid of course, but even so, overseeing the investigation personally was a bit of above and beyond. Not too shabby.. for a pouf. The big guy grabs up a handful of the salted crackers from a complimentary bowl and crams it into his mouth, RAR! MANLY. He gazes around at his other tablemates while chewing. There's his main dude, Baoi.. stewing in his beer and doing a very poor job of not paying attention to the way Lambsey's other arm is angled, the breadth of the table blocking their view of things, thank god, but it's so obvious he's shamelessly groping the young man, who at least has the sense to look nervous. It even takes poor Harry a few seconds before realizing that question was directed at him, and he rips his gaze off the suggestive unseen lead of that arm to focus on Dale's face in confusion. Wife, whuh? Jones snorts and shakes his head, oh dear lord in heaven, Baoi. "What, not going to compete this coming Fall? What you oughta be practicing is dodging bullets so your team doesn't keep fallin' apart before the tournament, Lambsey," he grins, and has to scratch his chin in puzzlement when he observes that liberty taken with the waitress's backside. Okay, so not entirely pouf.
"Of course we'll compete this fall, we got a lot of new people now with the expansion. We do our best, but circumstances being the bitch they are tend to end up with a lot of us in the crossfire. I dunno how that happens." Dale shrugs, "We're just popular with bullets, I guess."
He appreciates the waitress with a smile as she brings drinks to the table behind them and sets them down. He reaches into pull a few dollars from his pocket and stuffs them into her backside pocket with a grin, "There yeh go, sugar." He tells her jauntily, "looks like yeh'll be earning it tonight." What he means is that she'll be running around her feet off, but it could easily be taken as suggestive given his current mood and aura.
"There'd better be a diamond solitaire 'mong those bills, Big Red, 'round here that's a proposal," retorts the waitress with a frown.
"OH! Busted," bwahs Jones. Baoi looks confused and suspicious. Lee gives Dale a little kick under the table for being a jackass.
Dale gives the waitress a rueful grin, throwing the weight of his charm behind his words and action. Yeah, not entirely pouf, but mostly! "Just makin' sure yeh get compensation for dealin' with us lowlifes, doll." Then ouchies! Kicked.
The waitress goes away, smiling.
After quaffing down his first drink of the night, Lee predictably deals with the restless and uneasy by getting back up from his seat, saying he wants to watch the piano man. Then like the waitress, he also escapes the area before the excitement bubbling under the surface small-talk of this 'friendly' scene breaks through with him all over Baoi, clawing and yaowling. He's a pacifist, damn it, and besides, not half as drunk as he needs to be. Also? Dale's bold touching had been keeping Tick Tock awake and interested, and Lee hasn't been able to mentally convince it that it was all a damn dirty trick and there would be NO ACTION for probably /hours/. HOURS. It's up to Billy Joel over there to soothe /his/ savage beast. His skin flushes appealingly with combined desire and drink's influence, which hopefully draws attention to his face rather than points south.
EMT Baoi, staring after him with his focus directed at points south, tips his own mug back for the last mouthful and almost bites through the glass rim when EMT Jones suddenly leans in close to speak. On Jones's other side, a blonde rancher's daughter is getting in Dale's fase, trying to entice him back to her and her girlfriend's table with a lot of oh honey don't let all the hotness at this table go to waste you gotta spread it around some sugar!
Dale gives Lee a baleful look and admires the boys flushed skin. Mmm, he's such a lucky, lucky man and he knows it. When Lee gets up to go study the piano man he's a bit confused but not surprised considering he knows what his attentions have done in that particular area. Smug, yep, that's the look on the Lambsey's lips. The rancher's daughter has his attention, though. This is something that he likes. This kind of woman with a real figure and no silicon updates to it. He can truly appreciate that kind of package. "I'll get t'yeh before the evenin's over." He mock-promises with a drawling swagger to his tone. Every man has promised such things before of course while in a buzzed state.
"Listen up, Baoi, and hear me now," intimates Jones, sotto voice, with an unfriendly grin, "I've had /enough/ with your fritterin' around that little pansy-ass and pullin' /weird/ happycrap in the Mercedes like you did.." He ignores his workmate's look of frozen denial; after talking with Eugene, Cicero had put two and three together, all right. "..Now you are gonna /get up/ and get that /boy/ outta your /system/," he continues, speaking of Lee like he's some kind of malingering tree frog toxin, "/right/ the fuck now, I don't care /how/, and then you are gonna /pull/ yourself together and go home to Gisele, poor woman. And that'll be the end of it. /Go/. I'll take care of Lambsey." He sits back again, regarding Baoi with cold command for one more beat. Then he's finishing his own double bourbon and leaning the other way onto his elbow at the edge of the table.
Baoi sits in numb silence, then frowns heavily as he pushes up from the table and asks the waitress which way the head is.
Jones gives the blonde a leer then grins at Dale. "They're already circling like buzzards, ain't they. It's so you'll remember them when you're comin' down off the crazy." Wink, nod, trollish laugh! "Speakin' of that, it'll take more than just the bills if you're gonna pick up this next round, Lambsey. But we haven't got no beef, you and I. I already explained to little miss Eugene about the mascot thing. She told you, yeah?"
Mentioning what happened to Lee when he was just turning 19 draws a frown from Dale, a slightly savage darkening in the back of his eyes for a moment. It looks for the entire world like he's going jump out and sock something for a minute there. Retribution had not yet been paid for that. At least not yet by him, and he fixes EMT Jones a square look.
"You traumatized him. I understand you didn't mean to." He notes under his breath. "And he doesn't show it, he's good at looking like nothing bugs him. But you did traumatize him." His lips set into a tight curl head going back to the night where he had to help take care of Lee and keep him from doing anything stupid at the expense of his own needs and desires. That was the night that he knew his will was strong when it came to putting Lee's needs above his own. He takes a breath as he tries to make Jones understand this very crucial point. His eyes spark in the light of the bar, sounds of ruckus laughter all about them. He doesn't hear that though, he only looks directly at Jones, it is from one man who can kill bullies with his pinky if he wanted to, to another man who is a bully and that is the message in his tone. That is the underlying current that cannot be conveyed in direct words, only through emotion.
"He's not like you and me. We can take playing shit like that and shrug it off." His voice is low and harsh as he stares at Jones. He jabs a finger out at the EMT. "The only reason I haven't hunted you down and kicked you across the 'verse is cause he asked me not to. So don't foolishly pretend we're friends. We're not. But we have no beef that can't be settled on the soccer field. Lucky for you, I've got a reputation to keep."
Dale continues, clearing his thoat, as though trying to make it very clear and it might be that he considers that bullies can't put two and two together. Obviously wrong on that count considering Jones figured out Baoi's interest in Lee. "I understand completely about the Ambulance Chase, this is not about that, this is about the incident around his birthday."
The piano man doesn't seem to mind at all when Lee plinks a loose credit into his change mug, then comes around to sit at the edge of his bench for a small spell, watching the man's finger work intently. He'll be playing piano serenades before you know it! As of right now, however, they can only manage an adorkable duet of Chopsticks. People throw unshelled peanuts until they stop.
Booted from the piano man's bench when ol' Joel notices the boy's erm, more persistent chopstick, Lee frowns to himself as he muddles off towards the 'loo, mumbling dolefully, "Twenny-year-old should /not/ have to put up with this." But but but there's just so much of Dale here, the glowingest part of the taproom right now, drawing in the attention and admiration and speculation to his core like a star on the edge of supernova. It's maddening. Lee glances at that table, sees Dale dismissing the blonde and Jones grinning away at Dale and blathering on. Grrammit, so are they friends now? Well, of course they are - Lambseys like everyone. Even... but he shakes his head against the thought and while Dale is biting EMT Jones's head off, Lee heads more determinedly into the shallow alcove that houses the doors to the facilities, and runs smack into EMT Baoi. Owww. The man is like a permacrete utility pole.
"After you," invites Harold Baoi gruffly while doing that looming thing that he does. Maybe six-foot-four gorillas can't really help that.
"Uh.. righ'. No. I'm good. All yours," Lee manages his way through some unfortunately unintended double-entendres, with just a light stammer. He'd likely just hit himself in the eye at this rate, anyway.
Baoi seems to have noticed that, gaze flickering and mouth falling open in an exhale. He almost licks his lips, just a moist sound in his soft-spoken tone as he rasps out, "Looks like we've got a.. big problem." Oh ho ho!
"No kiddin', wish it would just get out of my face," Lee snaps, meaning the big problem standing right before him.. over him. Then he catches on, his eyes widen, and he swallows involuntarily, taking some steps away and backing into the alcove's brick archway. There's a dry little crackle as some of the blackened creepers break off under the impact.
Baoi has a tentative, even thoughtful, expression as he follows and reestablishes the Loom. "What's the matter with you, Lee?" he asks softly. "Why are you always so.." he catches his breath upon seeing the clear blue eyes lift up to meet his through bright brown locks, the locked teeth glimpsed barely beyond pink lips, the blush and the shiver of fear and anger. So.. /wanton/. "..so unfriendly? It wasn't me that hit you," he placates, "I even stopped him before he went all the way to nineteen." Yes, he had. Because he had loved it. He had hated that he'd loved it.
Thrown off balance by the unsolicited memories, Lee gasps out, "What're you.. whah? ..Nevvamind /thah/.. who cares about thah?" Not him. Nope.
"Then what, Lee?" Excitement makes Harry's low voice rush out and stir through soft hair. He feels himself on the raggedy edge of something, unable to stop.
The sound of his name from Baoi's lips smothers Lee's sensibilities in hot wrong sauce. Turning his face up sharply in the habitual head toss that clears the hair from his brow, "You bastard," he hisses, eyes blazing, forehead beaming alight in that precursor to rage. "I know what you did."
No. Harry frowns heavily. No, the sedatives.. the hypo..
"Your /MULE/," as if he'd sensed where Baoi's thoughts were headed, and nevermind /that/ too, "it was /yours/."
EMT Jones is the one sitting at a vantage point from which he can see that exchange taking place halfway across the taproom. He monitors it idly in his periphery while Dale takes the majority of his attention, a faint sense of loss of the pleasure of camaraderie felt, then squarshed when the other man makes it crystal clear where they stand. Eh. Jones doesn't need Lambsey's friendship! And he can hardly keep hold on his temper when Dale talks about... /beating on him/?? He's not going to give Dale his much-needed reason, but he's not about to let him get away with talking gorram smack at him. A nice squiggly vein throbs in his ruddy temple and he bares a dangerous smile. "Traumatized him.. oh, but I mean everything I do. And I'm lookin' forward to that first match and seein' what you can dish out. Now about that next /round/.." he reminds chidingly, glancing down at their empty glasses.
Poor Jones, he has no idea what Dale Kane Lambsey is capable of or he'd get his ass out of that bar quicker than spit from a camel. A friendly waitress returns and is just about to give Dale a flirty remark when she notices the smoldering look and shivers inwardly. Someone is going to get their fase smashed in. She quietly refills the drink, "Pay me later, sugar." She leans down with her full lips and whispers in Dale's ear and can't resist a touch to the long beautiful hair. Mmm, smells a bit like peaches. Odd for a man, but no less sexy.
About the table the web of fire is close to a boiling point, one savage thrust is all it would take, one push over the edge. Give me a reason, Dale's aura seems to chant. /I mean everything I do/ So you didn't care about the feelings of a frightened young man, just used your fists and strength because you could. Dale's expression is harsh now, harsh with something that isn't hatred. Hatred would be too good for someone who does the things Jones does.
Deseree Mars, waitress part-time returns to the bar and to her girlfriends. "I'm willing to bet we've got five minutes left before the mayhem of the night begins." She warns them all with a cheerful smile, looking forward to seeing this particular red-head in action and sort of hoping his shirt gets ripped, or maybe a pant leg! A girl can dream.
"You think so Desi?" one of the other girls inquires.
Desi's eyes roam the man, "you can bet your life on it." She exhales sharply. Men like that don't come around every day, and certainly not to this kind of bar, girl can't be blamed for staring.
It's hard not to know that eyes are on him, and Dale's used to it. He's often the center of attention though lately he's been trying to be in the background. It's nearly impossible with his hair though, back when he used to dye it all the time it was easier to blend in, easier to be a shadow in the crowd. Its unique copper color tends to draw attention if nothing else does. Today, though, it's not his hair that has all the chitterling going on in the peanut gallery. It's the attitude, and perhaps that is what prompts the piano man's inspiration when he launches into his next tune, ironically, a young man with a guitar comes to join him, just to pluck the chords to the tune that revs up the bar.
A little after Lee had departed the upright piano, there was an heavy dose of jazz and blues in the next song that hit the keys, in the way the notes tripped over themselves on a patternless path that had seemed utterly random, until one reflects back on the journey and somehow it all makes sense. To the musical ear, Joel would seem to be a pianist of uncommon mettle, but he's playing to a rowdy bar in the sticks instead of a classy lounge or concert hall. There's probably a good story in there somewhere, but at this moment he's picking up on the vibe of the barroom and it calls to mind a dark and dangerous little ditty that he begins in a lazy, sinuous tone that is backed up by the guitarist plucking out low notes and hollow thumps on the body of his instrument.
o/` Leaning over the /piranha pool/
You just wave your magic wa~nd
Dangling your fingertips
Into the world of the just beyond.
Sitting ever so /quietly/
In your /private/ dining room
Guiding the waves of /destiny/
Into the face of obli~vi~on~. o/`
All nicely mellow at first, the tune, but the true derisive nature of the piece begins to show through as Joel's voice grows stronger and more intense. And yet it is still just a lurking backdrop to all the drinking and individual conversations, throbbing like the telltale heart under the floorboards of the bar.
EMT Cicero Jones gazes at the young man with negligent contempt, smiling amusedly at his obvious animosity. "Oh I know," he grins wide, red-stained teeth showing that the substance he's been chewing on isn't spearmint gum. "But just think, if those fool civvies fleein' the scene hadn't run head-on into each other in our path, the Mercy would've been the first EMV on site. Woman would've been at Persephone Gen, and doin' so much /beddah/ than she probably is here," he sighs, throwing in that mocking imitation of Lee's accent, earning an adorable scowl. At least other folks might think it adorable. Jones just rolls his eyes away dismissively.
EMT Harold Baoi keeps mostly quiet, as usual, his brooding dark eyes and thick expressive brows doing all the talking necessary. The look of furtive, expectant familiarity in that stare gives Lee the uneasy notion that the Ambulance driver has seen and knows of him much more than Lee has seen or learned about Baoi in return. His only verbal response to the talk is a grunt, a shrug, and a muttered, "/I/ didn't wanna see her." He shakes his canned energy soda, finds it empty, and twisty-crushes it between his big hands before pitching it into one of the MWC's outdoor trash receptacles with a powerful overhand throw that emphasizes the length and thickness of his arm even in its sweater sleeve.
"'Course you didn't," Jones grunts back with a slight eye-roll. "You gave me a lift downtown without me askin' 'cause you love the smell of catburgers." He spits a wad of red-stuff into the gutter. Lovely.
Lee makes a face, looks around plaintively for Dale.
Dale would be glad to know that that incident hadn't hurt Lee, but he should figure it wouldn't all things considered. Especially since he took great pains to make sure the whole incident four months ago was overshadowed by other more pleasant sensations. As he comes out of the building and overhears the conversation he senses the loathing in Lee's tone. Stalking towards them he jangles the keys in the palm of his hand as though they are warding off evil. Jangle, Jangle, tinkle. "Ah, you two" he remarks with a casual wave of his hand in a tone which suggests that it is providence which has brought these two 'arch enemies' into his path. It's not like he can't take on Baoi and Jones both if he wanted to, and in all actuality it looks like he's ready to today with the sizzling spark of anger behind his eyes. He saunters in, protector and lover and he knows it. It's clear all over his face and his expression, eyes just snapping at them both as though daring them to try something. His arm drapes around Lee's shoulders and his nostrils flare slightly. "Just give me a reason, boys" those eyes seem to say. Instead, he speaks somewhat tonelessly, "Eugene needs peace right now, we're just heading out." There's nothing on the end of that pose except the tone which suggests that either their heading out to have hot angry monkey sex or act like angry manic monkeys. It's very likely the latter of the two.
Lee keeps his head turned, watching Dale's approach and settle by his side, their shadows moving across the plastiglass of the doors closing behind them. The weight of arm across his shoulders looks casual but Lee imagines(?) he can feel the potential energy humming from the muscles, shivering with the need to flex and stretch and bunch in more extreme activity. He's not afraid of being crushed, although he'd already offered in so many words and actions, to help Dale blow off the tension. No dice. Dale would never! Lee, bravado hiding the essential wuss, is rather relieved. "Righ'. We're done here," he points out for the benefit of all parties, and starts away from the clinic.
EMT Jones looks Dale over with interest, automatically assessing the earmarks of violence on his person. "I'm good with that. Woman's got an ounce of life, she'll hang onto it," he opines smugly, rearing his posture into one of supreme Alpha authority now that a similar built male has entered the area. He appears to be mulling something over past his hard-jawed countenance, shorn head bending lower for a moment while the Chief and Intern start away. "You know. You look like you need to get right outta the city. City's full of trouble to get into," he says leadingly, yes, he knows Dale has that undefined sense of trouble to him. He hasn't lost that instinct from his squad days in the Alliance 55th Mechanized Division. "But with your shiny rep it'd be costly. Ever heard of Black Dee's out past the south limits? Good drink, edible eats. No patrols." He smiles winningly, and makes a c'mon gesture to Baoi, who frowns questioningly but falls into step.
Epona's battered vehicle is waiting on the opposite side of the street, amongst others in a narrow parking lane. Jones starts in that direction as well, putting a slight stumble into Lee's step when he notices. The young man pauses over the information then, glancing up at Dale obliquely. "Think I remember passin' by that place while hitchin' to Southdown Abbey last summer," he says matter-of-factly. "It is beyond regular patrol space." Lee hasn't even considered the remote possibility of considering the military, but he does have the advantage of knowing Dale better than Jones does. Forcing some of his personal distaste for the goon away, he nods to acknowledge Jones' casual suggestion.
The young man is quite correct; Dale could never bring himself to do what had been suggested. "Black Dee's" Dale rolls the name over in his mind, he's heard mention of it from time to time. "Can't say that I've been there" When Lee mentions the Abbey and hitching rides his brows knit faintly but his entire focus is on Jones right now. Had Dale known that Baoi had attempted to run over him that one time he might be a little more concerned about being in the presence of the man, at the moment, he dismisses him as not a threat. "Looking for distraction" he murmurs, the words indicating that distraction of the pleasant kind isn't his intent. "Yeah, I am at that." His arm slips away from his partner as he studies Jones directly. He doesn't hook his fingers in his pants; one hand still holds the keys as the palm of the other is bound in the white bandage. His lips turn up in a slight curl, "I think my rep can handle it" He looks the man up and down, something dark and savage licking in his iris'. "This place sounds perfect, just what the Doc ordered." He drawls as he glances over his shoulder at Lee. "Let's get directions and go. If you're tagging along, better haul it." He turns then and strides towards Epona's car, decision made abruptly.
The eyeballing from Dale gets a brow-lift from Cicero Jones, and a 'y'think?' kind of lopsided grin. His gaze promises nothing, turning back on his workmate afterwards. "I'll navigate," he says to Baoi, who grumbles something about needing to get home some time, not like it's the week-end bar night. "Shut up and drive, like you really wanna go home to your nice safe potroast and port," Jones snorts. Baoi grinds his jaw but makes no further protest. "Right behind you kids," promises Jones more loudly to the younger duo.
"I know the way," Lee assures, resigning himself to the idea that their party of two has grown into four. Obviously they're not all piling into the personal vehicle to which Dale has been entrusted the keys, unwisely!, by their worried ambulance driver. Jones and Baoi branch away to go to a family-sized private MULE another couple of cars down the line. Lee, circling Epona's wheels to the shotgun side, glances briefly after them... and stumbles again. He stares as the EMTs clamber up into the midnight-painted MULE, an image of horror swimming up from the deep dark and juxtapositioning itself overtop his current line of sight... then snapping away. Is that car...? Is it the one? His lips quiver into a silent half-expletive, then he swallows and quickly swings into his own seat after Dale pops the locks on the doors. He glances at Dale's determined profile, but says nothing, merely gesturing the initial direction they need to take to get onto the service road that will bypass the Eavesdown Docks and get their vehicles on a heading south away from the city core. That road is long, it turns several times out of necessity to go around some deep dry lakes and muddy fens. Lee is quiet, thinking, eyes flicking to the sideviews to observe the other MULE as it follows along steadily behind, while his mind labours over and over the memory of that black night in August 2524. The yell of warning, the screaming treads, grinding gears, the dull flash of streetlights on tinted windows. His heart going cold as he lost sight of Dale completely for that one second that was all the time necessary for everything good to be ended forever.
He blinks out of it with a gasp, out of one nightmare and into another, as the next time he glances into one of the sideviews, the MULE is RIGHT the HELL on their bumper. A mere nudge on the throttle would bring the dust-choked guards together in a brutal kiss. "Fuckers.." he grrs under his breath, bracing himself for Dale's acceleration... at least he hopes that's how the man's going to deal with the extreme tailgating.
If only Dale knew what was going through Lee's head, but sadly he's not a psychic. He's too wrapped up in wrath to consider the color and make of the vehicle but he might later when he's more himself. He smiles when he notes that Epona's car has an interesting stereo system setup and he flips on some music...and gets French Rap. He eyeballs Lee mock-suspiciously. At first the drive is just that, wind whipping through his hair and his boyfriend's scent at his side mollifying the beast within. The sounds of the main hum of Perse drift away as they hit the service roads. Adrenalin is guiding his every movement now as he hasn't slept very well since the shooting. "Faster huh?" he mutters to himself as he changes gears and pushes the MULE forward. He'll show them. There's a sudden incline and he maneuvers the MULE slightly so that he is suddenly off the road, this brings them close to a guard rail and nearly results in getting damage to Epona's car. Dale manages to avoid major damage however with a few shifts of the wheel and a couple of heart-stopping sweeps.
"Christ on a fucking tank." He swears, "Stupid boulder in the way." He glances over his shoulder and shakes his fist at it. He slows down and since they are on the hill, they are now now BEHIND the pair of EMTs and he cackles wildly. "Show 'em who's boss." He shifts gears again and revs the engine. Zooom! Hellooo boyz.
EMT Baoi does not want to be here, on this road trip, going to some out of the way shack with his outrageously gung-ho workmate, and the blue-eyed devil he repents ever laying.. eyes.. on, and the blue-eyes's seething boyfriend who may or may not have recognized his personal vehicle. It's a Bad Scene all around, but then the past year has been revving and rolling inexorably to this day, to which all the stupid, confused, and /sick/ turns he's made point like one-way arrows on the road of life. But if he has to be here and in the driver's seat, then he is /here/, and he is going to /win/ this stockcar race. What else to expect from Baoi's thought processes than road warrior metaphors?
"Whatta couple of grannies on a Sunday motor," laughs Jones. "Go on, let's take a look in their trunk." So Baoi hits the acceleration, and with a smooth done-this-a-thousand-times leap forward, all but pins his MULE to the other's bumper. His pulse fires as from this new proximity he can look through the dusty rear windshield and see Lee sinking down in his seat tensely. Then the car is speeding away hectically, kicking up a windstorm of dust behind it as it goes halfway onto the shoulder. With a spin of steering column, Baoi pulls wide of the billowing cloud, small rocks bouncing off the tinted plastiglass, and races ahead to clearer visibility. "Shit," grumbles Jones, a hint of concern creeping into his usually iron-tough tone as he tries to spy the other car through all the fog of debris.
EMT Baoi spares his co-worker a wary sidelong glance, as some suspicions are confirmed. First calling off the soccer match to spare the MWC Lambs a default elimination due to various members of their team being incapacitated by the Xmas Day Massacre. And then not saying word one against the MWC folks they used to have so much fun mocking. And then all but picking up the EMV Mercy and carrying it /around/ the ensuing traffic accidents when the emergency channels were filled with chatter about the shooting at the BHG and the Soh woman said to be the one gunned down. And now, today, trying to see her, taking her idiot boss and her idiot boss's boytoy out to the boonies for a round drinks, and getting /worried/ about /them/? "...What're we doing here, Jones?" he suddenly asks, his voice low and dull.
Suddenly, the Chief's car carooms into view, now behind them and coming up fast. As the windshield clears of excess dust, they can't here but /can/ see the maniacal laughter. "Christ..!" grates Baoi, jumping in his seat. But Jones snorts, "Crazy bastard. Lead on, Harry my Baoi, lead on. Don't let him on your ass, I hear it's like that saying: in like a Lion, out like a Lambsey." Baoi's knuckles grow a tad white as he throttles the vehicle forward out of the Eponamobile's reach, then down the hill at a breakneck speed. Luckily, the junction leading west into the Nemean Township is now just up ahead, which means the low brick building attached to the motor inn on the outskirts must be Black Dee's.
Lee chokes off a gutwrenching cry as their vehicle hits roadside in a spray of gravel, seeing the hill's guardrail coming up fast on the side. Dimly, he can make out the larger personal MULE zipping clear and forging ahead, with a nimble grace belying its boxy proportions. That's definitely the kind of mad stunt driving he'd witnessed the day Dale almost became chunky red salsa on the curb opposite the Flats. The analytical observation is dashed away again by Dale's.. cackling!?.. as they weave and swerve and then tear up the gradual hill after the EMT's MULE. "We're almost there, just beyond this rise," he manages, sounding ill. "Think you can show 'em who's the boss of /not/ rammin' through the taproom wall?"
Dale's cackle is gleeful after a heart-clenching spin of the wheel nearly pulls them off of the road and into the ditch. It is only the man's sheer will that keeps them steady. Oh he's got no intention of ramming the EMTs, that could lead to too many problems, he's just scarin' them a little. Poor Lee, it is a good thing there are hardly ever used seatbelts on this here MULE because Dale's last MULE jolt could make any intern lose his lunch. Frigit! He turns up the rap! He doesn't speak a word of French but that makes it all the more fun. Yo yo La La! French rap goes something like this:
Eloquence on dit koi ?
On dit qu'sait bon non ?
Des vagues de ouf sur des beats de dingue,
Putain c'est bandant
Moi j'suis un afro beau qui donnent des affres aux beaufs
Parce que ce taff ??? c'est d'tre ???
L'poque des yys c'est fini
Maintenant si tu sais pas c'que c'est,
Dale's not really paying that much attention to the words, they mean nothing to him, it's the beat that is darn cool for the moment. The ominous building which is Black Dee's comes into view and Dale glances over to make sure that Lee's still in the seat beside him. "Is that it?" He wonders the obvious as he brings the MULE about to a hovering halt. Booyah! He preens. "How was that?"
Lee being Lee, he sponges up the French Rap, a musical style that against all odds, had survived the first quarter of the twenty-first century. At least it distracts him from the feeling of his heart rising into his throat once the Eponamobile shoots over the rise and chases the other MULE down the slope. After coasting into the vehicle yard, and powering down the systems, Baoi exits the MULE a few moments after Jones, who had hopped out as soon as it had rolled to a stop. The big thick ex-soldier saunters over to wait on the porch, smiling impatiently until he can lead the way into the brick building.
Lee had made a few helpless gestures of exasperation before intimating with a mumble, "You went so fast I think I aged another year. I get /three/ beers for that." Following Dale and gaining the porch, he becomes aware of Baoi bringing up the rear, and his expression grows cold with uncharacteristic wrath. It's quelled enough by the time they get into the main taproom that the waitresses are not warded away from casting welcoming smiles their way.
Dale looks gleeful as he steps out of the Mule and pockets the keys. He needed something like that, the death-defying mule stunts, much like how he used to race with Zander when they got bored and happened to be on rim planets with interesting canyons. He catches Lee's look, "I didn't go that fast!" he protests, "Just fast enough, and three Beers." He nods, "Ok, just enough to give yeh a buzz." He reaches up and ruffles Lee's hair then slips his hand down and pats him on the rump, "But don't get drunk, I'm gonna need yeh coherent later" he promises with energetic mischief gleaming in his eyes.
Inside, the light quality currently a little dimmer than the day outside, but seems to rise yellowly as evening begins to descend. The lights are hoisted on thick chains that hang like giant cobwebs to wrap around the brick support columns placed intermittently around the taproom. Larger in floorspace than most bars in the slum, Black Dee's features the typical shallow horseshoe-shaped wet counter extending a good thirty-five feet in the middle of a hundred foot southern wall. Climbing vines of some dried, long-dead plant stretch and cling to all of the visible walls in blackened multitudes of tendrils, covering over even the old framed photos, with the exception of behind the bar, where a smoky mirror and numerous shelves of liquor. The noisy kitchen in the west wall services both the pub and the attached traveler's inn and smells of pan-fried produce, sourdough, and bacon. At this time in the early evening, three-quarters of the wooden tables and chairs are full of drinkers and diners, all ages over twenty-one looks like, and mostly rustic in dress. Notably there is a table full of black leather, which would explain the row of six tank-like hogs lining one of the walls outside.
Excellent, they have a honkytonk piano here and a real live piano man, filling the empty spaces with long rambling pieces for coin in one glass mug and malt in the other. And yay, waitresses! Three fully-dressed lasses with long ponytails and great smiles tackle several tables each but still have time to flirt. All in all, a well-done caricature of a rural tavern, and friendly-looking enough, except when you take a look at the slate board menu behind the bar: FISTY FRIEDAYS has knuckle sandwiches and black-eyed peas as the dinner feature.
"First round's on me," declares Jones as he pushes for a table on one end of the bar, and it should be noted that he doesn't jostle any of the seated patrons unnecessarily. He moves slow enough that people are displaced in a manner that could be described as courteous. "Man who starts somethin' here without buyin' a round first is shackled to the trough in back with the baked bean pans and an old toothbrush."
Dale takes a look around the place with interest, absorbing the atmosphere and adjusting his strut so as to not be too cocky but just enough to annoy Baoi, cause that's always fun. "Interesting name for a pub, wonder if it means anything" he stage whispers to Lee. Then Jones makes his announcement and Dale's eyebrows climbs, "Alright then," he gives the man a far less hostile look than he usually does when in the EMT's presence. The dangerous undertone is still there, though and possibly makes the ladies watching weak in the knees.
"Prob'ly means somethin' completely pedestrian," Lee mumbles back to Dale, standing in the man's dark aura while he waits for Jones to blaze a trail across the homey country bar, and breathing somewhat deeply, feeding off it while he continues to try and deal with the ramifications of his own discoveries. Trying not to look over his shoulder. But it's hard to maintain a decent air of tension when his lover is mussing his tuff hair and tapping his butt. "Yeh I know, you're not gettin' behind that wheel when it's time to go back," he smirks at Dale, pretending to overlook the eye gleam that just made his slacks tent a bit. Not even blind white hatred can stop the timebomb, apparently.
The object of that hot animosity is coming through the front entrance and coming up behind them just as that playful little display occurs, stopping Baoi in his tracks for a long, paranoid moment. His querying dark eyes follow along with the movements of that presumptuous hand from soft hair down to firm ass and even though Dale isn't looking at him currently, the EMT suddenly feels positive that the MWC Chief is once again getting inside his head, reading his thoughts, and taunting him with them, mercilessly. "I know you touched them both," the silky sly words come to life in his mind, "but just remember you sick secret pervert. This..?" Ruffle. "Mine. And this.." Pat-pat. "Mine as well." Incredibly, the petting seems to have the effect of drawing the fabric more tightly across Lee's seat before Baoi's very eyes. "Better than anything you'll ever have." He can't ever shake those words drawled to him on the soccer practice field, and the old compulsion to wipe that insufferable life-is-good smile off Lambsey's face comes back full-force. Then they're in motion again, ranging a straggling line into the midst of a sea of scraping chairs. clinking glances, and speculative sidelong looks.
"Not getting behind the wheel you say?" Dale remarks with mock-gruffness, but it's really quite obvious that he won't argue with the boy as he flips the keys in his palm and slips them into Lee's pocket as they comfy themselves in closer quarters. Lucky him, he gets to touch that whenever he wants. Mmm. It soothes the savage beast.
To Jones he says, "I'm not going to start anything but I sure as heck will finish it if it starts itself." He acknowledges. As they find places to sit he slides into the chair effortlessly, copper hair glinting in the dim light. As he does sit, he gets shoved slightly as people are moving about in the table next to them. He looks mildly irritated but does not react to that yet. Beer first, fisticuffs after, that's the rules, "I was in perfect control of the MULE" he tells Lee with a smug look. "I wouldn't have let it throw you." Except that they nearly hit that boulder and it would have just ended in smitherines of lamb and lion bits instead of broken limbs.
The scarred square table claimed by Jones seats four with plenty of room to spare and is the type put together with planks, closer inspection of nail grooves suggesting that the piece of furniture has been put together four or five times over. After finding that the bar is out of standard bottled beer until the next shipment, Lee reluctantly agrees to draft. The waitress looks for a moment like she's going to ask him if he's really old enough to drink, but then decides it isn't worth embarrassing the kid in front of his big manly friends. Close enough, right? And besides, the potential kinetic energy at this table is making her insides quicken.. she's waited tables at Black Dee's long enough to read the signs.. the tenuous smiles on two, the edgy frowns on the other two, but all four so brimming with heat and hormones. It'll start here, she decides, with a flicker of a smile at the copperheaded one as he orders, resisting the urge to suggest that the tie up the rest of his hair in a tail.. no, that mane will be everywhere, in his face, across his sparkling blue eyes as he... ack, down girl! She nods quickly through the big bald-headed man's repeated declaration that everyone's round is on him, grabs the credit spike tossed to her, and escapes to fill the orders speedily with her coworkers - drinks.. everyone need drinks! An appreciative murmur unifies the taproom for a few moments.
"I tend to be a self-starter, myself," Jones remarks presently to Dale, touching on the man's recent statement. "And I do follow through and go the distance and all that good shit. But I see what you're sayin', I know what went down. And there's people who're gonna get a plate heaped with hurt served up, and deserve every friggin' mouthful." That metaphor is almost something Lee himself might have come up with, if he had that tendency to violence. Perhaps that's why Jones is looking right at Lee while he says it so cheerfully..
Lee can't help a flinch at the edge of his upper lip in response, before he bites back the 'fuck you' snarl and looks aloofly away from both staring EMTs. Maybe he did deserve that humiliating punishment for remaining in his position at the clinic after operations launched it into the 'Versal spotlight. But he'll be damned if he ever sends Jones a thank you card for it. And he just wants Baoi to just /quit/ /looking/ at him like that altogether, full stop, do not WANT, do not pass GO. He grabs his draft mug and drinks, and whooaah, just keeps on drinking it down bloodymindedly. Of course, now Baoi can watch his long white throat moving and pulsing with swallows. Ah ha, he's got it now, Black Dee's must be another word for Hell. Dale will be so pleased to know.
Dale fills out his chair rather than sits into it and becomes a sharp ornament in the scope of the club, pretty in a rugged sort of way, yet dangerous as well. He eyeballs the waitress with a charming smile though, letting her absorb the full effect of the Lambsey look without really meaning to. "Alright then, at least we can agree on that, they most -certainly- will pay. I've actually asked the BHG to see if they'll let me take personal charge of the investigation." He salutes his mug to Jones and casts a glance at Lee suddenly becomes a guzzling gus. Huh? "Down the hatch it is." He has apparently not noticed Lee's discomfort, and his free hand rests on the boy's thigh. His thigh! Mmm purr rumble. The lion within likes the taste of draft as it rushes down his own throat. He laughs casually, though with little mirth. Yeah, it's gonna start here.
His fingers on Lee's leg trace a little circle, close to certain already aroused bits but go no further than that, thankfully leaving the boy alone for a bit to recuperate. "Truth be told, you two are the last people I expected to be having a drink with today." Dale states the obvious though he doesn't really need to. He assesses Baoi with a smirk, "So how's the wife and kid, kids whatever." He inquires. It could be a carefully placed innuendo, or not. Hard to tell with the way his eyes shift suddenly from Lee to Baoi. It's also a very insincere question, he doesn't really care and you can tell. Making conversation, he flips his hair back. "Next year we'll get in more practice for the football session." He tells Jones, "Then we'll see whose face gets in the mud more often, yeah?" He chuckles then as he knows he and Jones are mostly on the same wavelength when it comes to competition.
Dale's eyes roam around the bar as he speaks, fixating on little pulls to violence. The overly bouncy hyped up waitress, the piano player who seems poised and ready to play a jaunty tune at any given moment, the card game in the back and a shifty looking salesman trying to goad a guy into buying his product at a nearby table. There's also the multitude of on edge people winding down after work hours or at least trying too. Mostly, they are from less than prosperous lives and you can tell. It's the life of men and women trying to scrape out an existence in the verse and causes an undercurrent of tension when the masses gather.
Jones nods approvingly over Dale's course of action, eyeing him alertly. Yes exactly. That's what he had been speaking of, the sons of bitches who dared gun down everyone's favourite saucy Korean chick, not fancy lad Interns who lie and cheat and apparently think everything is about them. Lambsey's reputation is pretty solid of course, but even so, overseeing the investigation personally was a bit of above and beyond. Not too shabby.. for a pouf. The big guy grabs up a handful of the salted crackers from a complimentary bowl and crams it into his mouth, RAR! MANLY. He gazes around at his other tablemates while chewing. There's his main dude, Baoi.. stewing in his beer and doing a very poor job of not paying attention to the way Lambsey's other arm is angled, the breadth of the table blocking their view of things, thank god, but it's so obvious he's shamelessly groping the young man, who at least has the sense to look nervous. It even takes poor Harry a few seconds before realizing that question was directed at him, and he rips his gaze off the suggestive unseen lead of that arm to focus on Dale's face in confusion. Wife, whuh? Jones snorts and shakes his head, oh dear lord in heaven, Baoi. "What, not going to compete this coming Fall? What you oughta be practicing is dodging bullets so your team doesn't keep fallin' apart before the tournament, Lambsey," he grins, and has to scratch his chin in puzzlement when he observes that liberty taken with the waitress's backside. Okay, so not entirely pouf.
"Of course we'll compete this fall, we got a lot of new people now with the expansion. We do our best, but circumstances being the bitch they are tend to end up with a lot of us in the crossfire. I dunno how that happens." Dale shrugs, "We're just popular with bullets, I guess."
He appreciates the waitress with a smile as she brings drinks to the table behind them and sets them down. He reaches into pull a few dollars from his pocket and stuffs them into her backside pocket with a grin, "There yeh go, sugar." He tells her jauntily, "looks like yeh'll be earning it tonight." What he means is that she'll be running around her feet off, but it could easily be taken as suggestive given his current mood and aura.
"There'd better be a diamond solitaire 'mong those bills, Big Red, 'round here that's a proposal," retorts the waitress with a frown.
"OH! Busted," bwahs Jones. Baoi looks confused and suspicious. Lee gives Dale a little kick under the table for being a jackass.
Dale gives the waitress a rueful grin, throwing the weight of his charm behind his words and action. Yeah, not entirely pouf, but mostly! "Just makin' sure yeh get compensation for dealin' with us lowlifes, doll." Then ouchies! Kicked.
The waitress goes away, smiling.
After quaffing down his first drink of the night, Lee predictably deals with the restless and uneasy by getting back up from his seat, saying he wants to watch the piano man. Then like the waitress, he also escapes the area before the excitement bubbling under the surface small-talk of this 'friendly' scene breaks through with him all over Baoi, clawing and yaowling. He's a pacifist, damn it, and besides, not half as drunk as he needs to be. Also? Dale's bold touching had been keeping Tick Tock awake and interested, and Lee hasn't been able to mentally convince it that it was all a damn dirty trick and there would be NO ACTION for probably /hours/. HOURS. It's up to Billy Joel over there to soothe /his/ savage beast. His skin flushes appealingly with combined desire and drink's influence, which hopefully draws attention to his face rather than points south.
EMT Baoi, staring after him with his focus directed at points south, tips his own mug back for the last mouthful and almost bites through the glass rim when EMT Jones suddenly leans in close to speak. On Jones's other side, a blonde rancher's daughter is getting in Dale's fase, trying to entice him back to her and her girlfriend's table with a lot of oh honey don't let all the hotness at this table go to waste you gotta spread it around some sugar!
Dale gives Lee a baleful look and admires the boys flushed skin. Mmm, he's such a lucky, lucky man and he knows it. When Lee gets up to go study the piano man he's a bit confused but not surprised considering he knows what his attentions have done in that particular area. Smug, yep, that's the look on the Lambsey's lips. The rancher's daughter has his attention, though. This is something that he likes. This kind of woman with a real figure and no silicon updates to it. He can truly appreciate that kind of package. "I'll get t'yeh before the evenin's over." He mock-promises with a drawling swagger to his tone. Every man has promised such things before of course while in a buzzed state.
"Listen up, Baoi, and hear me now," intimates Jones, sotto voice, with an unfriendly grin, "I've had /enough/ with your fritterin' around that little pansy-ass and pullin' /weird/ happycrap in the Mercedes like you did.." He ignores his workmate's look of frozen denial; after talking with Eugene, Cicero had put two and three together, all right. "..Now you are gonna /get up/ and get that /boy/ outta your /system/," he continues, speaking of Lee like he's some kind of malingering tree frog toxin, "/right/ the fuck now, I don't care /how/, and then you are gonna /pull/ yourself together and go home to Gisele, poor woman. And that'll be the end of it. /Go/. I'll take care of Lambsey." He sits back again, regarding Baoi with cold command for one more beat. Then he's finishing his own double bourbon and leaning the other way onto his elbow at the edge of the table.
Baoi sits in numb silence, then frowns heavily as he pushes up from the table and asks the waitress which way the head is.
Jones gives the blonde a leer then grins at Dale. "They're already circling like buzzards, ain't they. It's so you'll remember them when you're comin' down off the crazy." Wink, nod, trollish laugh! "Speakin' of that, it'll take more than just the bills if you're gonna pick up this next round, Lambsey. But we haven't got no beef, you and I. I already explained to little miss Eugene about the mascot thing. She told you, yeah?"
Mentioning what happened to Lee when he was just turning 19 draws a frown from Dale, a slightly savage darkening in the back of his eyes for a moment. It looks for the entire world like he's going jump out and sock something for a minute there. Retribution had not yet been paid for that. At least not yet by him, and he fixes EMT Jones a square look.
"You traumatized him. I understand you didn't mean to." He notes under his breath. "And he doesn't show it, he's good at looking like nothing bugs him. But you did traumatize him." His lips set into a tight curl head going back to the night where he had to help take care of Lee and keep him from doing anything stupid at the expense of his own needs and desires. That was the night that he knew his will was strong when it came to putting Lee's needs above his own. He takes a breath as he tries to make Jones understand this very crucial point. His eyes spark in the light of the bar, sounds of ruckus laughter all about them. He doesn't hear that though, he only looks directly at Jones, it is from one man who can kill bullies with his pinky if he wanted to, to another man who is a bully and that is the message in his tone. That is the underlying current that cannot be conveyed in direct words, only through emotion.
"He's not like you and me. We can take playing shit like that and shrug it off." His voice is low and harsh as he stares at Jones. He jabs a finger out at the EMT. "The only reason I haven't hunted you down and kicked you across the 'verse is cause he asked me not to. So don't foolishly pretend we're friends. We're not. But we have no beef that can't be settled on the soccer field. Lucky for you, I've got a reputation to keep."
Dale continues, clearing his thoat, as though trying to make it very clear and it might be that he considers that bullies can't put two and two together. Obviously wrong on that count considering Jones figured out Baoi's interest in Lee. "I understand completely about the Ambulance Chase, this is not about that, this is about the incident around his birthday."
The piano man doesn't seem to mind at all when Lee plinks a loose credit into his change mug, then comes around to sit at the edge of his bench for a small spell, watching the man's finger work intently. He'll be playing piano serenades before you know it! As of right now, however, they can only manage an adorkable duet of Chopsticks. People throw unshelled peanuts until they stop.
Booted from the piano man's bench when ol' Joel notices the boy's erm, more persistent chopstick, Lee frowns to himself as he muddles off towards the 'loo, mumbling dolefully, "Twenny-year-old should /not/ have to put up with this." But but but there's just so much of Dale here, the glowingest part of the taproom right now, drawing in the attention and admiration and speculation to his core like a star on the edge of supernova. It's maddening. Lee glances at that table, sees Dale dismissing the blonde and Jones grinning away at Dale and blathering on. Grrammit, so are they friends now? Well, of course they are - Lambseys like everyone. Even... but he shakes his head against the thought and while Dale is biting EMT Jones's head off, Lee heads more determinedly into the shallow alcove that houses the doors to the facilities, and runs smack into EMT Baoi. Owww. The man is like a permacrete utility pole.
"After you," invites Harold Baoi gruffly while doing that looming thing that he does. Maybe six-foot-four gorillas can't really help that.
"Uh.. righ'. No. I'm good. All yours," Lee manages his way through some unfortunately unintended double-entendres, with just a light stammer. He'd likely just hit himself in the eye at this rate, anyway.
Baoi seems to have noticed that, gaze flickering and mouth falling open in an exhale. He almost licks his lips, just a moist sound in his soft-spoken tone as he rasps out, "Looks like we've got a.. big problem." Oh ho ho!
"No kiddin', wish it would just get out of my face," Lee snaps, meaning the big problem standing right before him.. over him. Then he catches on, his eyes widen, and he swallows involuntarily, taking some steps away and backing into the alcove's brick archway. There's a dry little crackle as some of the blackened creepers break off under the impact.
Baoi has a tentative, even thoughtful, expression as he follows and reestablishes the Loom. "What's the matter with you, Lee?" he asks softly. "Why are you always so.." he catches his breath upon seeing the clear blue eyes lift up to meet his through bright brown locks, the locked teeth glimpsed barely beyond pink lips, the blush and the shiver of fear and anger. So.. /wanton/. "..so unfriendly? It wasn't me that hit you," he placates, "I even stopped him before he went all the way to nineteen." Yes, he had. Because he had loved it. He had hated that he'd loved it.
Thrown off balance by the unsolicited memories, Lee gasps out, "What're you.. whah? ..Nevvamind /thah/.. who cares about thah?" Not him. Nope.
"Then what, Lee?" Excitement makes Harry's low voice rush out and stir through soft hair. He feels himself on the raggedy edge of something, unable to stop.
The sound of his name from Baoi's lips smothers Lee's sensibilities in hot wrong sauce. Turning his face up sharply in the habitual head toss that clears the hair from his brow, "You bastard," he hisses, eyes blazing, forehead beaming alight in that precursor to rage. "I know what you did."
No. Harry frowns heavily. No, the sedatives.. the hypo..
"Your /MULE/," as if he'd sensed where Baoi's thoughts were headed, and nevermind /that/ too, "it was /yours/."
EMT Jones is the one sitting at a vantage point from which he can see that exchange taking place halfway across the taproom. He monitors it idly in his periphery while Dale takes the majority of his attention, a faint sense of loss of the pleasure of camaraderie felt, then squarshed when the other man makes it crystal clear where they stand. Eh. Jones doesn't need Lambsey's friendship! And he can hardly keep hold on his temper when Dale talks about... /beating on him/?? He's not going to give Dale his much-needed reason, but he's not about to let him get away with talking gorram smack at him. A nice squiggly vein throbs in his ruddy temple and he bares a dangerous smile. "Traumatized him.. oh, but I mean everything I do. And I'm lookin' forward to that first match and seein' what you can dish out. Now about that next /round/.." he reminds chidingly, glancing down at their empty glasses.
Poor Jones, he has no idea what Dale Kane Lambsey is capable of or he'd get his ass out of that bar quicker than spit from a camel. A friendly waitress returns and is just about to give Dale a flirty remark when she notices the smoldering look and shivers inwardly. Someone is going to get their fase smashed in. She quietly refills the drink, "Pay me later, sugar." She leans down with her full lips and whispers in Dale's ear and can't resist a touch to the long beautiful hair. Mmm, smells a bit like peaches. Odd for a man, but no less sexy.
About the table the web of fire is close to a boiling point, one savage thrust is all it would take, one push over the edge. Give me a reason, Dale's aura seems to chant. /I mean everything I do/ So you didn't care about the feelings of a frightened young man, just used your fists and strength because you could. Dale's expression is harsh now, harsh with something that isn't hatred. Hatred would be too good for someone who does the things Jones does.
Deseree Mars, waitress part-time returns to the bar and to her girlfriends. "I'm willing to bet we've got five minutes left before the mayhem of the night begins." She warns them all with a cheerful smile, looking forward to seeing this particular red-head in action and sort of hoping his shirt gets ripped, or maybe a pant leg! A girl can dream.
"You think so Desi?" one of the other girls inquires.
Desi's eyes roam the man, "you can bet your life on it." She exhales sharply. Men like that don't come around every day, and certainly not to this kind of bar, girl can't be blamed for staring.
It's hard not to know that eyes are on him, and Dale's used to it. He's often the center of attention though lately he's been trying to be in the background. It's nearly impossible with his hair though, back when he used to dye it all the time it was easier to blend in, easier to be a shadow in the crowd. Its unique copper color tends to draw attention if nothing else does. Today, though, it's not his hair that has all the chitterling going on in the peanut gallery. It's the attitude, and perhaps that is what prompts the piano man's inspiration when he launches into his next tune, ironically, a young man with a guitar comes to join him, just to pluck the chords to the tune that revs up the bar.
A little after Lee had departed the upright piano, there was an heavy dose of jazz and blues in the next song that hit the keys, in the way the notes tripped over themselves on a patternless path that had seemed utterly random, until one reflects back on the journey and somehow it all makes sense. To the musical ear, Joel would seem to be a pianist of uncommon mettle, but he's playing to a rowdy bar in the sticks instead of a classy lounge or concert hall. There's probably a good story in there somewhere, but at this moment he's picking up on the vibe of the barroom and it calls to mind a dark and dangerous little ditty that he begins in a lazy, sinuous tone that is backed up by the guitarist plucking out low notes and hollow thumps on the body of his instrument.
o/` Leaning over the /piranha pool/
You just wave your magic wa~nd
Dangling your fingertips
Into the world of the just beyond.
Sitting ever so /quietly/
In your /private/ dining room
Guiding the waves of /destiny/
Into the face of obli~vi~on~. o/`
All nicely mellow at first, the tune, but the true derisive nature of the piece begins to show through as Joel's voice grows stronger and more intense. And yet it is still just a lurking backdrop to all the drinking and individual conversations, throbbing like the telltale heart under the floorboards of the bar.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Pre-Rolls
Date: 2009-08-05 02:17 pm (UTC)From:Dale says, "tension during driving good idea."
Lee says, "At the bar, Jones reveals his true motive after a couple rounds of drinks and a leading build-up of fuel on the fire kinda talk. It's an bar out of patrolled Alliance routes, so the atmosphere is proudly rough and tumble. Fight breaks out, people don't panic, some come there just for that kind of thrill."
You test an NPC's melee_attack (40) against a 60 difficulty. The result is successful (27).
Lee says, "Something pretty guaranteed to get a reaction from Dale. NPC throws the first punch."
Dale tests his Melee_Parry against a 87 difficulty. The result is unsuccessful (-6).
Lee dunnos how much detail you want right now about NPC identity or what sets it off.
Dale says, "no worries, we can work on that during the actual rp."
Dale says, "Perhaps Baoi says something naughty"
Lee says, "You'll see then. :D"
Dale says, "Yep"
You test an NPC's melee_attack (40) against a 60 difficulty. The result is successful (11).
Dale tests his Melee_Parry against a 71 difficulty. The result is successful (0).
Dale tests his Melee_Attack against a 50 difficulty. The result is successful (27).
Dale tests his Melee_Attack against a 55 difficulty. The result is successful (26).
You test an NPC's melee_dodge (30) against a 81 difficulty. The result is successful (13).
You test an NPC's melee_attack (40) against a 60 difficulty. The result is unsuccessful (-15).
Dale tests his Melee_Attack against a 55 difficulty. The result is successful (40).
Dale tests his Melee_Attack against a 60 difficulty. The result is successful (0).
Dale tests his Melee_Attack against a 65 difficulty. The result is successful (3).
You test an NPC's melee_parry (30) against a 95 difficulty. The result is unsuccessful (-50).
You test an NPC's melee_parry (30) against a 60 difficulty. The result is successful (29).
You test an NPC's melee_parry (30) against a 68 difficulty. The result is unsuccessful (-27).
[ROLL] Lee rolls for a 50/50 chance. The result is successful (96).
Dale says, "bets are probably going down"
Lee says, "NPC doesn't hit anyone, but another fight breaks out nearby anyway. Spilled drink!"