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originally posted in:The New Dojo
11/28/2016 11:02:40 PM
174
[b]Dojoville Bar // 2208 Hours // Jack Treyman // Monday Nov. 18, 2016 Tatakai Years. [/b]
[i]The door swiftly opened, and in walked Jack. The barflies and regular patrons all looked over to the figure who had been wearing a slate grey suit on his fairly slim, muscular frame as he started picking at and adjusting his fiery red hair atop his head, which was slicked back at the front to look classier than he normally appeared to be in his mask and tiger striped cloak. No weapons were seen on him though, for they weren't needed.
Trudging along behind him, the Cowboy by the name of JT was cracking his mechanical knuckles on his left hand, in order to prevent rust from settling in. His duster hovered a fair ten inches off the ground but the brown outfit was still tattered, torn and riddled with bullet holes from past endeavours on the upper half of his extremely muscular body while the skin tight, emerald green jumpsuit that clung to his body rippled near the waist with every movement. As per usual, he was armed to the teeth.
Either figure stepped up to the wooden table in the bar, as a blonde waitress came by to greet either of the... Strange, men. Strange as in Treyman was dressed a little too classy and JT had been a cowboy in the modern day. While Jack was busy flirting with the waitress and consequentially getting the first round of whiskey and vodka on the house, JT had set his hat down on the table and checked the Tac-Pad embedded inside of his right arm.
JT: "Trey, the -blam!- am I here for?"
Jack: "You're getting social interaction."
JT: "I don't need it."
Jack: "Dude, you turned down three parties this week for 'Training,' you need it."
JT: "...-blam!-, fine. But you know what goes down when I dr-"
Jack: "I know, I know, you get flirty and turn into a -blam!-boy. Chill, casanova."
JT: "Casa-what?"
Jack: "Dude, really?"[/i]
((Open for conversation. Fighting will not be fair, so pls don't try))
English
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[spoiler]bump for later.[/spoiler]
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"Well! Look who I've run into here!" Anne had entered the establishment. And leaned on the closest table to JT. "What up, Doc?"
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[i]"Do I know you?" Asked the Marshal as he tossed his cowboy boots up onto the table, crossing his ankles in such a manner that the spurs didn't stab his own legs. [/i]
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Anne took the nearest glass and clinked it against her biotic arm. "A customer. Remember?"
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[i]"I get about three customers a day," JT said as he grabbed a glass of whiskey from the nearby barista as he handed Treyman the vodka. Smirnoff and Crown Royal, respectively, no ice or chaser in either half glass. "I don't exactly recall you. Care to refresh my memory?" [/i]
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"After the The battle for castle dusk? I lost my arm? You knocked me out before I could say what I wanted?"
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[i]"Sounds like standard procedure considering I utilize machines to read thoughts while asleep, but whatever. And yeah, I remember now, Anne right?" [/i]
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"Guilty as charged. Now what brings you to a... Fine...establishment such as this?"
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[i]"Needed a drink and to socialize for a bit, you?" [/i]
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"Looking around! Getting to know this place. And it's people. A surprising amount of you hang out in bars...."
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"Looking around. Trying to learn the ropes of this place. I fine a surprising amount of you guys in bars actually..."
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Bump because this is still happening.
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[i]The door to the bar opened, and none other than the Courier entered, clad in his full power armor and gear, the massive machine gun on his shoulder aimed skywards, the eyes of his helmet glowing a fiery orangish yellow. Entering the bar, most people moved out of his way, eyes fixated on him in both awe and terror. Wilson was no laughing matter, and certainly had no problems killing people for less than not letting him through. Approaching the bar, however, a man sitting on one of the stools was exactly where Wilson was headed. Grabbing the man by the throat, Wilson threw him backwards and into someone's table before sitting down on the stool himself, waiting for the bartender to approach. [/i]
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[i]That table, funnily enough, was belonging ti both Jack and the Marshal. Jack just chuckled when the poor sod came crashing through the oakwood while JT just scowled at the figure, sending him fleeing in terror as either man stood, walked over to Wilson, and sat on either side of Courier Six. "You could've asked," Treyman jokingly replied as JT flashed two of his robotic fingers to the barista who had the drinks for JT and Treyman, before she walked back into the back. [/i]
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Alright, I know I'm gonna f*ck up y'all's names, because I swear to Christ I'm slightly ret*rded. [i]He said, gesturing with his hand. [/i] So who's who?
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[i]"I'm Jack," said Treyman as he grabbed for an orange mask at his hip, putting it on his face. The right eye had a black crosshair over it while the left had a red splotch of colour. "Cowboy's JT, call 'em Truman if you need."[/i]
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Jack the Ripper and Harry Truman... maybe I'll get this sh*t straight someday.... might help if I didn't drink so much... [i]He said, gesturing for the bartender to bring him an entire bottle of whiskey.[/i]
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[i]Cowboy: "Dude how much have you forgotten due to whiskey?"[/i]
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I forget. [i]He replied through a chuckle.[/i]
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[i]"Well man, I guess you've taken more shots than you've given in literal shots."[/i]
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Oh I've taken plenty of literal ones too. Didn't always have this armor and sh*t bro. [i]he said, chuckling.[/i]
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[i]"I'd heard," JT replied as he took a swig of his whiskey. There were a variety of books and tomes on the Dojo's history on the libraries and so he had found the occasional book on the Courier. "Apparently you wore some sort of Duster or some shit."[/i]
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Old ranger gear. You know the NCR f*cks that hang out here? Same gear their rangers wear. Killed a ton of 'em, had a shotgun and was hyped up on Psycho. Liked the gear, so I took it. [i]He said, taking his helmet off. The filtration hoses disconnected with a hiss, and he set it down on the table. Opening the bottle, the Courier downed half of it in a solid chug. He certainly looked the part to be doing that, his face marred with scars, the familiar slashes of a deathclaw, the scar where the bullet went in, and a few more that were probably souvenirs from something stupid. His hair had been styled back, and he looked to have been fairly clean-shaven, at least for the time being.[/i]
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[i]"Aye, been there once or twice," JT admitted in an accusing manner as he shot a glare towards Treyman, who defensively raised either of his hands. "Landed in some shithole version of Washington, spoke to a dude in armour like yours. Said it was T-45 or G-45, something with a 45."[/i]
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T-45. Tin hunk of sh*t compared to X-01. Back before the war, T-45 was the first set of power armor that the US made. I think you can infer from that why the stuff sucks. [i]Wilson said, shrugging.[/i]
