[Golden Dragon] Soulless, but Spirited [Lucas]

by **Victor Lark** on December 25th, 2011, 7:39 pm

“Technically, it was mine to begin with. Or hers.” He gestured towards the door with the mug as he vaguely recalled the woman that had left so many chimes ago. Despite that it was barely half-full, a bit of the beer sloshed out over the lip and splattered onto the sticky floor. If Victor cared, he did not seem to notice. The taste of it had not left his tongue when he lifted it again, as much to sate his unending thirst as to reemphasize his triumph.

He paused before he took that draught; the table clattered behind him as he tried and failed to lean against it. The overturned chair, the mess on the floor, the sudden commotion of falling: Victor should have realized that they had attracted eyes, but his knew only this boy. He was angry, clearly. This Ravokian liked to see an angry face, had seen many in his short life; he had a knack for making them angrier. It was as if the end of a fist, with enough pain in the punch, could make him angry too.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled though the smirk on his lips, over the glass mug before his face. His ironed eyes were full of daring. “Why don’t you find out?”

Then he tipped it high and began to chug.

by **Lucas Arias** on February 1st, 2012, 1:07 pm

„Well, now it’s mine. Everything’s mine“, Lucas stated matter of factedly. He really didn’t care whose hand the mug had been in before. He had decided that it was his now, and that was all that mattered. „And you are wasting the beer“, he reminded Victor as he noticed that the precious liquid splattered onto the floor. „My beer“, he added.

That they had already created quite a mess didn’t occur to the squire (who was turning out to be more and more of a failed squire), even though it could have consequences for somebody like him who was supposed to represent Syliras. He was much too focused on the idiot opposite of him that didn’t seem to be able to grasp anything he said.

He looked at the bottle – the empty bottle – and wondered whether he should just hit Victor with it. It would certainly be effective. Then it occured to him that the idiot might accidentially drop the mug and spill even more alcohol after being hit by a bottle, and he couldn’t bear to see it wasted!

So he decided that a change of plans was in order. „Behind you!“ he exclaimed and pointed. „The bartender. He’s holding a weapon! I think he’s going to throw us out!“

At least that was what he wanted to exclaim. The words came out a little slurred. And then, without waiting for Victor’s reaction (or the lack thereof if he was unlucky – which he usually was), the squire reached for the mug in Victor’s hand, the other fist clenched because he had come to the conclusion that he could just hit him again when the mug was safe.

That somebody might come and throw them out for real did of course not occur to him.

by **Victor Lark** on February 7th, 2012, 1:52 am

Who did this kid think he was? Victor knew a lie when he heard one, or when he did not want to believe a truth. He did not fall for the stupid trick. He rolled his eyes so hard his head tipped back, and in that incredulous second something happened that made him feel suddenly lighter. He straightened his neck and frowned belatedly at the squire. Then he noticed the mugless state of his hands.

“Hey, beer-for-brains,” he mumbled. “I bought that with my money. Give it back.”

But whatever his philosophy on purchase and property rights, Victor would not lose this heated battle of wits. He grabbed the mug by its mouth and yanked, sending the glass thing to shatter on the floor.

Usually he turned drunken irritation to real anger with the only the twist of his tongue, used taunts and insults instead of his fists, but something was holding this stranger back. He had attacked before, but it seemed he was too drunk to go through with it, to really be as vicious as Victor wished he would be. The foreigner could not tell if it was honor or cowardice, but he decided to deduce it was the latter. If his latest drinking buddy couldn’t be provoked by mere words, so be it.

As the last of the golden swill soaked into the floorboards, Victor looked up at those blue eyes and pretended he did not want to smile.

“I told you,” he said through his teeth, then swung his fist at Lucas’s jaw, “to hit me!”

by **Lucas Arias** on February 14th, 2012, 6:19 pm

„No, I won’t give it back“, Lucas retorted. He proceeded to take a gulp, and then he hid the mug behind his back as if he were a little boy that was worried about his favourite toy and not a future knight. „I don’t care whether you bought it or not. If you want it back, you’ll have to fight me.“ He looked at Victor challengingly as he said this, but secretly he wondered whether he should just run off with the mug, hide somewhere and enjoy the beer in relative safety. He was still surprised that he had actually managed to steal it, considering that Victor hadn’t fallen for his trick.

He stopped hiding the mug. He wanted to drink a little more before he ran, but alas, before he could react, Victor had already yanked at the mug, and moments later it was lying on the floor, broken into countless tiny pieces. Lucas looked at it incredlously, and then he proceeded to glare at Victor as if the man had just committed a sacrilege. „How could you?“ he accused him. Under normal circumstances he would not have obeyed anybody but considering the way things were, hitting Victor actually seemed like a really good idea.

So that was what he did. He tried to duck under Victor’s arm and then proceeded to aim for his midsection, followed by what was supposed to be a kick, Jokor style, right between the man’s legs. His thoughts were just coherent enough that he remembered a similar situation which had ended with him being very, very miserable and embarrassed. „Jokor, you petching idiot. That will teach you!“ he growled as if he were facing his archenemy and former roommate and not a complete stranger. And of course he was completely convinced that he would be successful in teaching Jokor a lesson!

by **Victor Lark** on February 20th, 2012, 12:24 am

“Who—”

Victor did not see the attack before it happened. In one moment, he was stumbling through a clumsy punch, and in the next he could not feel anything but the engulfing shock that spread from his groin. Only his reflexes were left to move him and, burdened by drink, they could not save his compromised balance. As he collided with the floor, he could see nothing but the hot black of his eyelids and the stars of dizziness. He did feel the burn of vomit climb up in his throat, but he could not hear himself retch onto the already filthy floorboards. Furious and delirious, he pried a hand from where reflex had put it and groped blindly around for Lucas’s leg, hoping to bring him down too.

Instead, he found the shards of a mug that had fallen between them. Even as they cut him, Victor reached desperately for a good-sized piece. He found one that was bigger than his palm and grasped it firmly, unable to care for the pain in his hand beyond the distraction in the rest of his body. He rolled to his back, searching his failing vision for that stupid boy’s stupid face. As soon as he thought he found it, he aimed the glass shard for the foot beneath it and shoved the makeshift weapon down, as hard as he could. A wordless cry of revenge groaned from his throat, but besides that he was incoherent and incapacitated. He rolled over again, showing his back to the foot he had stabbed, and curled around his lingering pain.

by **Lucas Arias** on February 25th, 2012, 6:02 pm

Lucas‘ grinned all over his face as his archenemy fell to the ground. Jokor would never attack him again after this here, he was sure of it! He would learn to respect him!

As the other man vomitted though, Lucas was suddenly a lot less happy. The squire made a step back to avoid being vomitted on and nearly collided with a table behind him. Just seeing Victor empty the contents of his stomach on the floor made him a little sick as well. He wondered whether he should take advantage of his current state and hit him with something or leave as long as he was still able to leave (or get even more drunk and pass out somewhere) …

… and then he felt a sharp pain in his foot and let out a high pitched, surprisingly girly scream followed by a multitude of curses, one worse than the next one. He grabbed the foot that had started to bleed with both hands and jumped around (which looked rather funny), and then he was on the floor as well because he had lost his balance.

He sat there, still holding his foot and looked rather stunned for a moment, and then his gaze fell on a chair that stood conveniently close, and his eyes suddenly lit up. He lifted it (which wasn’t easy considering that he was drunk and in pain and the chair was heavy) and brought it down right on Victor’s back so that the man would finally shut up and leave him alone!

by **Victor Lark** on March 3rd, 2012, 3:58 am

It was hard to feel the impact when it hit. His mind was slipping into cottony darkness, wholly consumed in keeping him alive and aware. But the subsequent pain was real enough. He groaned, and the throaty noise turned to a laugh as he realized how pathetic he must have seemed. He wondered if his similarly debilitated opponent felt the same, or if he was blinded by fury or intoxication. What he wouldn’t give to be angry!

In anger’s place, he relished the pain. He closed his eyes for a moment, and his attention diverted to the growing bruise on his arm, the round ache in his groin, the pieces of the broken chair where they still dug into his back. He tried to see Lucas’s face behind his eyelids, tried to visualize the red-faced rage. He thought he heard someone moan, and imagined it was him. It was close enough, Victor thought; it had to be.

And then he was suddenly cold, his clothes heavy with an abrupt torrent of water, which had been tossed from the bucket in an irritated barkeep’s hands. Victor’s shocked senses pulled him from the brink of consciousness and he managed to rise to one elbow. Before he even had the chance to wipe the dripping chill from where it hung in his eyes, he felt himself flying to his feet, hoisted up by arms he could not see. He sputtered and shook his head, looking around drowsily. He had the chance to notice Lucas beside him, hanging from another pair of civilian peace-makers, before they were both thrown bodily out of the Golden Dragon through the front door.

“Get out of here,” he heard from a voice he did not recognize. “If they find you on the streets they’ll arrest you as a public nuisance. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

Victor, hardly having the agility to land on his feet, rolled to his stomach and laughed again.

by **Emblem** on March 5th, 2012, 9:18 pm

Congratulations!
You Get Glorious Experience!

Victor
Skills

Lores

Lucus
Skills

Lores

Comments :