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originally posted in:The New Dojo
5/17/2017 11:43:13 PM
110
[b][i][u]Bar Tales[/u][/i][/b]
[i]A Bar Sonewhere In The Dojo....[/i]
Finn McNamara sat on a bar stool, a beer in hand as he nodded his head silently to the music.
Yawning, he glanced at the nearby clock. It read 7:30 PM.
The Hunter shrugged and took another draught of beer, knowing he'd need a lot to get drunk thanks to his high metabolism, and took a look around him for someone to talk to, familiar or otherwise.
[spoiler]Open.[/spoiler]
English
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Traci gulped it down in seconds and licked her lips. With wobbly legs she moved in front of the dart board. "I can so do this."
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"Five glimmer says yer wrong, lass." "I think she can do it." Wisp replied. Both of them watched her intently.
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She grabbed a dart and aimed it at the board. Her hand was unsteady and it looked like she'd miss by a mile, but when she threw it she hit the bullseye. "Did I do it?"
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"I owe ya five glimmer." "Told you." The Hunter reached into a pocket and withdrew five small, glowing blue glimmer cubes. "Ere ya go, lass."
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"Ooh! Sparkly..." She half walked and half stumbled over and took the glimmer. "What is this?"
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"Glimmer. It's money where we come from. You can turn it into anything you want." Wisp explained to her, twirling happily around her. "Ya earned it. An congrats, yer drunk."
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"Thanks, Wisp." Traci gives a drunk girl giggle and sits back down on the stool, her cheeks reddening.
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"I'm glad you won. Oh, and I can remove some of the effects of the alcohol if you want." The Ghost added, floating around her.
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"Nah! I feel grrrreat!" Traci rests her head on the table. "Why is the world spinning?"
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Finn laughed at her. "Because you're drunk. You'll get a really bad headache soon." Wisp warned.
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"Bah! I'll be fiiiine!" She giggles yet again and attempts to hug the ghost. "Eyy, buddy!"
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He willingly allows himself to be hugged. "You're awesome, Traci." Finn finished his last drink and smiled. "Aw, Wisp finally got imself a friend!"
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"You're awesome too, lil floating buddy." Traci cuddles the red and green ghost affectionetly.
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If Ghosts could smile, Wisp would have been grinning ear to ear. "Thank you! See Finn? She agrees with me! I'm awesome!" "Aye, an' humble too."
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Traci continues to have an arm around the ghost while gesturing for another drink with the other.
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The bartender slid her another beer "Yer naugh goin' ta be walkin home on yer own, are ya?" "Oh shush, Finn. If she could beat you at darts I'm sure she can walk home."
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"I can walk just fiiine." She once again finishes the drink in record time and slams the glass back down. "Y'know, I feel so good right now."
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Finn laughed, paying the bartender. "Tha's cause yer drunk. I think Tha's enough fer one night. Yer goin ta 'ave ine 'ell of a hangover on the morrow."
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[i]The door chimed; the bartender sighed; and the women swooned hopelessly. The clicking of a heel on the ground came through the air, bouncing off each of the walls and accompanied by the rhythmic chime of metal clanging with each step of the man in boots. He kicked in small amounts of dirt with him, staining the bottom of his brown cowboy's footwear and kicking it off again with each of the large strides forward he took. Eventually the man in the duster would take a seat at the bar a few stools down from Finn McNamara, and there were a division between gazes he got; Lust, from the women, intrigue, from the men, and annoyance from the bartender who knew he'd need to restock on alcohol. The figure ordered his whiskey from the middle-aged barkeep and took a shotgun off his back, resting it up against the table with his Winchester rifle so that he appeared non-hostile. Though clearly he kept some small arms on him, as shown by the revolvers and swords that rested on his hips. From a pair of Colt Anacondas to a cavalry saber and a series of exotic blades on his hips, he looked almost nomadic. The bandolier and lasso on his chest helped give the image of bounty hunter, but the scruffy beard and hat said outlaw. But above all else, the badge on his chest said Marshal in a very literal sense. [/i]
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Finn immediately liked the look of this guy. Nomad... Outlaw... Bounty Hunter... That just screamed everything that he, as a Hunter, considered himself. "Yer quite the one fer makin' an entrance, aren't ya?" He jokingly commented as he took a swig of his beer. Due to his thick accent, and perhapse a bit too much alcohol, her wasn't the easiest to understand.
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[i]"I don't speak immigrant." The remark was laced by an accent, one of Texan descent and accompanied by an underlying tone of a jesting nature. The bartender put the drink of the cowboy on the counter and slid it to him - a full bottle of some unnamed whiskey in a brown bottle - and he started taking sips without sparing any time. He seemed unphased, and while he wasn't exactly able to hold it all, he knew that his limit lied past one bottle of liquor. "Going to have to speak English, man." [/i]
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The Hunter rolled his eyes, his face flushing slightly. "Er ya bloo'y daft, lad? 'M speakin the Queen's bloo'y Anglish, clear as day!" His voice hinted heavily at annoyance, it appears a nerve had been struck.
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[i]"You sound like you bit into a potato too hard and cut your tongue. Oh wait, y'all got -blam!-ed by famine and have no potatoes to -blam!- up." [/i]
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"Yer a bloo'y riot, mate." Finn rolled his eyes, turning back to his beer as he made a particular rude and arcane gesture with his middle finger at the Cowboy.
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[i]"Pretty sure your ex was screaming that last night, laddie," the cowboy responded, a mocking and racist sounding Irish tone latching itself onto the last word. "Now chill and stop takin' shit so seriously." [/i]
