Open [The Kelp Bar] Picking fights

[Weylin Quickshot]

Date: Winter 512, Day 49, Evening


“Why you little Shyke!”
It was the blow that made Weylin stagger back, the feeling of blood blooming forth as her nose erupted in pain. Before her stood a burly man, the legendary green liquid of the Kelp Bar mostly plastering his front. She felt her hands hit the table behind her, as she eyed up the size of the brawler that stood before her. It was suppose to be a quiet evening, an attempt to try and mingle in with the locals, understand the way of Zeltiva and more importantly taste the local concoction. Of course, that all started to go wrong when she walked in and was addressed as ‘Lad’. Weylin could not help her more masculine appearance, or more over perhaps she could if she ever decided to put in the effort. But effort took up time and time Weylin preferred to use elsewhere.

Weylin rolled to the side as a second fist came racing in her direction. Then of course, there was the other issue with looking like a boy, it was easier to get into fights, and get ganged up on for making the simplest of mistakes. For example, stumbling forward onto a rather burly man with a mug full of Kelp Beer had now plunged Weylin into the situation she was in now. In all honesty Weylin never really enjoyed fighting, but it was a necessary evil to learn it, and sometimes it was the only way to get someone to listen. She crawled along the floor for a moment, a mad scramble to get to her feet.

“Don’t you dare run away boy!”
She felt a hand grab her ankle and pull her back across the floor, her hands trying to grab at something. Her fingers fumbled at a stool leg, the wood running through her fingers before she grabbed it. Enough was enough. Her fingers tightened around it as she swung herself onto her back the stool leg following shortly behind. It struck the brawler on the arm, forcing him to release her. Weylin did not hesitate in her escape. She threw the stool to one side, pushing herself up as she heard the raw or the brawler. Around her the patrons shouted and cheered, crying out for more violence and preventing Weylin from escaping. She got spun round on the spot and pushed back in, tumbling once more into the arms of the brawler. The Drykas was grabbed by the collar and flung. She felt the wind rush past, the moment of suspension in the air as she was thrown.

She barely had time to register the pain that rushed through as she landed awkwardly on one of the tables, smashing through it and landing in a pile of wood and splinters. Her green eyes staring up at the ceiling, her body having turned numb, the noise around her fading and disappearing into nothing. In a short amount of time the pain would take hold, and her mind would scream at her to move, but for the moment, she seemed quite content in just laying there with a dazed expression and a bloody nose. What a night this was going to be.

[Philomena]

Even a professor, at sail in the sea of human thought, must eat. And even a professor, ranging the hoard of knowledge on hte winged horse of... erm... knowledge... must pay for it. And Minnie's hoard was not inexhaustible, despite the limited expenses of living alone. And cooking for herself... never ended well.

She sat, therefore, not in the finer dining of the upper crust and literati, on a grim, mucky evening in the height of winter, but rather in the somewhat grubby (to the fastidious soul at any rate) confines of The Kelp Bar, at a table, alone. her hair was half unraveled - one of her braids had lost a ribbon, and one of the tails was now finding itself wicking up the kelp-malt from her battered fish. Her hands fluttered in slow, oscillating waves over the table, as she stared at three cruets of malt Vinegar, with an intensity usually reserved for magical work or mesmerism, murmuring softly under her breath - her incantation less than magical:

"But then, there's no explanation for... the fall into hexameter, on the third stanza... that has to mean..."

Noise, the world, existence, the cold which is gnawing lucidly at the tip of her longish, once broken nose and fogging slightly the glass of her spectacles, all these things, they are away. They are foreign. Seh shifts in her seat, hitching up the skirts of her dress, in a soemwhat unladylike fashion - her movements had begun to shift down the neckline of her drss, which she may not have noticed but for the fact it made her hard to reach the third cruet - which she rotated a quarter turn left, and nodded her head sagely.

Well, perhaps, some noises can pierce after all - noises like a barfight. In truth, it isn't the noise at all, its the subliminal change in the energies of the room, and the fellow in the booth behind who stands abruptyl to go watch, knocking her chair forward so her whole braid now slaps wetly into the frying grease and kelp malt, leaving it a mousy, greenish-brown, oily mass of parsley and hair. She oomphs, and looks up.

"What? What is this?"

A fight. A fight... she could hardly see it for the crowd - but a momentary ripple lets her see - the large fellow the boy on the ground, the blood, her stomach churned a bit at this. From hexameter to blood, so quickly was a transition not to be borne, and what's more,t hey'd broken her thought - and then, she was not entirely herself either, still lost in the world of Post-Valterrian epic poetry she had been immersed in. She stood atop her chair - such a small woman must sometimes take liberties, to try to get the lay of the land - how to escape, how to evade, where the quiet can be regained. Escape, though, seemed impossible, the crowd was pressed too tight and she, in her stupidity, had sat near the warm fire instead of the safe door.

Rather louder than she expected, she squeaked an angry sound, something between a yelp and a soprano roar, "Children! You are all damned children!"

The crowd, of course, normally thrilled to see a spectacle, payed her little heed though - an unattractive professor making a fool of herself is certainly something worth chortling at, but it was NOTHING compared to a good bout of fisticuffs.

[Daishira]

Another chilly evening in the glorious city called Zeltiva! How typical. Daishira pulled his black leather jacket tightly towards him, as a way of banishing the unrelenting air from his personal space. Inanimate air particles had no conception of personal space however, and they just squeezed in through the imperfect material, through the seams of his clothing and drew the heat from the Kelvic's body.

The Human form is so impractical, Daishira thought, I would much prefer my animal form. Oh, the fur... The warm, protective fur... I feel naked without it.

Needing some sort of warmth, some sort of shelter that could withstand the attacks of the cold, Daishira quickened his pace so much that it was almost a run. The mist escaping his lips was being pushed back into his face as he walked quickly.

“Don’t you dare run away boy!”

Those keen wolf ears of his picked this line up as approached the Kelp Bar.

Boy?

Daishira's morality commanded him to see to the trouble, like an officer ordering his own personal bodyguard by standing directly beside him and shouting into his ear. No child should be assaulted by a grown adult. He saw it as pathetic, fighting small children. To win what? The affection of the crowd? Not likely... Certanily not Daishira anyway.

Ignoring the chill, Daishira suddenly sprung into a sprint as he barged the door to the Kelp Bar, the door nearly flying off its hinges, making a tremendous bang against the wall. This noise, usually loud enough to draw attention, would not draw nearly as enough though to stop the fight. There was a crowd, more like a rabble, all chanting for the adult to beat up the boy. One woman screamed, stood on a chair, no doubt trying to achieve height and a dominant position, "Children! You are all damned children!"

At least someone was trying to help.

Rather different from the woman's attempts, Daishira rushed through the crowd, knocking over several people in force rather than speech. He resembled a heavy vehicle throwing its weight to plough its way through any obstacle to get to its destination. Perhaps a death carriage from hell would suffice as a description.

Only when he was through did he shout with all the air he could muster in his lungs, "OI!!!"

This scream came close to a bark. It echoed through the bar and shuddered those closest to him. He instantly recognised the 'boy' attacked. She was Weylin! She laid sprawled over a knocked over table with a bloody messy excuse for a nose. A large man with a patch of Kelp Beer on his front stood over her as a monstrous tower, leaning over her, ready to collapse on her and release his potential fury into her. They first met days ago at the fountain and she knows that he is infact a Kelvic wolf, a dangerous fighter. Maybe not the best in terms of skill, but in presence, he could be very intimidating and sometimes, if he was lucky, this would be enough to scare the opponent away.

Perhaps it would have been better for the assaulter if Weylin had been a boy. He would have no personal element involved in this. But seeing as it was Weylin, Daishira's heart grew hard and smouldered in new found anger. The fire within him ignited.

With impressive speed and precision, Daishira landed a fist against the large man's neck. Then his stomach to remove his air. Then his nose. Partly for Weylin, partly to make him reel over in shock. Blood emerged from the nostrils. A painful noise sounded from the man.

God, he smells of beer...

Daishira grabbed the man's moist torso and flung him over his back onto a table. Its legs cracked under the massive force and together, the man and the table lay in a collapsed heap. A loud, sharp breaking of wood, and maybe bone, erupted, which silenced the crowd's immature chanting. Daishira stood in the circle and was now the center of attention. A familiar feeling as he recalled the scene from when he first arrived in Zeltiva his horse had caused with a red haired Inarta. The feeling of being watched did not phase Daishira. Instead, he turned and faced Weylin, still at home with her cosy looking arrangement of table, floor and blood.

Kneeling down and offering his hand, he spoke gently to her, aggression devoid from his tone, "Weylin? Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

[Weylin Quickshot]

Weylin felt the pain creep in, a sign that was indeed time to move from her nest of a broken table, wood and blood. She gave a groan, as she tried to move herself, pain flaring up and filling her back. It was intense, but also equally amazing. She could feel her blood pumping, a ringing growing in her ears as she tried to make herself move. Weylin heard the shrill of a woman above the chants of the crowd. She peered up to see the brawler hovering above, his look in his eyes expressing all of his intent. She saw his fist recoil, ready to come racing down but then, he stopped.

But only because another had stepped in.

This blur of movement was fast, her 'hero' had struck the brute firstly in the neck and then in the gut. But before the Drykas had time to register what had occurred, the brawler found himself in a similar position to Weylin. The cheering had stopped, the bar had wrapped itself in a silence with only the sound of footsteps coming towards her. Blurry eyed she tried to push herself up again, yet she paused when she found herself coming face to face with an extended hand. She followed it up, past the sleeves, the shoulders, the neck and onto a familiar face. Daishira.
"Weylin? Are you alright? Are you hurt?" an element of gentleness hung in his voice.
She gave a wince as she took his hand, and eased herself up.
"Yeah, I am alright," she frowned, her back was screaming out in pain, her head throbbing, but still she spoke reassuringly "I will live. Thank you Daishira."
Weylin gave a smile before returning her attention to the brawler. For a moment he was still, but even he too was beginning to grunt and groan. She wiped the blood away on her face, not that it helped much, it still ran down from her nose.

She glanced around at the crowd, who still stood staring at them, as if waiting for the next performance. But there was to be no other performance, or so Weylin planned.
"Alright! Show's over!" she gave them all a hard glare "Back to your drinking!"
Yet as she said that she felt the judging look of the Kelp Bar fall upon her, picking up no doubt her Drykan accent. Her eyes traced them all, picking them out, hunting down their flaws and if they would indeed be possible for her to take down. Not that she wanted to fight, she just had to be ready. She staggered through the crowd, finding herself a space in the corner near the warmth. Despite their watching gaze she eased herself down, discomfort filling her expression, aches and pains shooting through. She only hoped now, in her state that the brawler would not return to her for a second round of fists.

[Philomena]

A raucous crowd is, indeed, one step from a mob, but at least the raucousness is somewhat predictable. A silent, standing, intent crowd is a chilling, dangerous thing. The professor from her seat takes a sharp intake of breath at the change. If the boy (the Drykas boy! Interesting!) had punched the man attacking him, that would, perhaps have changed the energy of the crowd, but not for the worse - it would have simply begun taunting the bigger combatant instead fo the smaller. The addition of a third force of arms (or disarms, as the case may be) does the opposite of defusing the situation. A barfight, after all, is a nuisance, and not se terribly rare of one. A simple bout of fisticuffs has, unofficially, certain protocols, certain allowable outcomes. The crowd for its part may form a ring, but its a spectator sport.

A true brawl, that is something else, something more dangerous, for in a brawl, there is no crowd, any longer, there is a pool of potential combatants, and the informal order of the fight disappears. Brawls, like riots, bring out the looters, the sadists, those who need an excuse to hide their actions. And Minnie Lefting is intimately aware of her shortcomings in self-protection. She for a moment jerks toward the channel that Daishira made, barrelling his way into the room - but the crowd is still an organic force, now, livid and boiling but still with the surface tension to be fluid, to fill quickly any empty space. Minnie's face goes a little frightened - not the only one in the crowd, and even a foot up on a chair, perhaps taller thanmany but not all the other members of the crowd. She bends, in the press of bodies, quickly, nervously stuffing her belongings into her satchel. Not good, not good, not good...

[Daishira]

Weylin took Daishira's offer and pulled herself up, wincing as she was hoistered to her feet, admittedly not as carefully or gently as Daishira could've been. She replied in a brave manner but blood was still freshly pouring from her nose.

"Damn, Weylin. For a boy, you sure know how to start a fight," Daishira smirked at the little joke that she was mistaken for a boy by the brawler and the rest of the crowd.

Unfortunately, Daishira didn't have any tissues on him. The jacket he had could not wipe the blood comfortably from her nose, but still, he had to help in some way. It could be a way of returning the favour. Weylin helped Daishira's leg injury. Daishira would help Weylin's... everything injury. First her nose. He found it surprising that Weylin still had the strength within her to shout back at the crowd.

Oh yes... The crowd. We need to move out of here.

More carefully this time, in the light of his slightly rough handling of Weylin, Daishira pulled her out of the circle. His hand raised was all that was required to part the boundary of the temporary arena, as if he was a skilled magician and the crowd was his handiwork and its shape could change at his will. No doubt his display of strength shattered their will to speak or obstruct. In all honesty, Daishira was not that good, he just had the luck of taking him from behind. If it was a full on one versus one, he would probably end up in a similar, if not worse, state than his Drykas friend here. One more look at her as he sat her down at a table near the screeching woman and bruises were starting to appear.

"I guess now I'm the one who's supposed to go hunting now, eh?"

[Weylin Quickshot]

Weylin gave a small laugh "Yes, indeed for a boy."
She was pleased to be in good company, even with her aches and pains, mixed with the growing feeling of being light headed. He supported her and guided her to where she wanted. She rested her arm against the table and with her other hand touched the tender nose. She wince a few times, her fingers gently massaging the swelling. Although nothing seemed broken, Weylin had to make sure. She gave it a gentle squeeze, feeling the blood dribbled down her face and onto her front, and soon after the flowing stopped.

For the most part she was covered in a few scratches and bruises. Her back however would no doubt be covered in more serious signs of damage. But Weylin did not want to look, or moreover it was impossible to look right now. After all, she could not turn her neck around that far. But then Daishira spoke.
"I guess now I'm the one who's supposed to go hunting now, eh?"
She gave a smirk, pushing down the discomfort as she wiped away the blood with her sleeve "No need to. I am grateful enough for you stepping in."
Weylin spoke with honesty, if Daishira had not stepped in then she would no doubt be in a worse state than she was now. The Drykas pushed the hair off her face, her ears twitching at the low rumbling of sound as the patrons returned to their drinks. Well for the most of them. Weylin spied a panicked woman packing her things away, as if to make an escape before the tension of the bar escalated once more. Weylin did not blame her, a timid creature was not suitable in a place that could turn deadly at any moment.

But then her hunting gaze turned to that of the brawler. She watched him stand and adjust himself, her eyes growing sharp, analysing every aspect. Weylin had time now, to think, to clear her thoughts and prepare and attack. The brute glared at her, and she returned it, a whispering instinct growing in the back of her mind. He was angrier now, no doubt because he was beaten down by a surprising second hand. Her fingers tightened into a fist, a look of raw determination seeping in. She stood, shakily, an attempt to make her legs move, to get the adrenal pumping. Weylin rolled her shoulders back, squaring herself up against the brawler. She did not want a second round, but if it was a second round he wanted, it was a second round she would have to give.

There was never a point that Weylin chose to live in fear, for living in fear stopped the soul from growing, it wrapped the mind up in worry. And so, ever since arriving in Zeltiva, Weylin always tried to live everyday to the full, to not hold back and most importantly to be alive. She gave a glare to the brawler, her expression clear.
"If it is a fight you want, then it is a fight you will get," she announced her voice clear.

[Philomena]

The lady in the crowd, of course only a minor player in this drama, packs her bag, climbs off her chair. The crowd wavers a moment, as the Drykas and his companion move off, and so Minnie threads into it, bag clutched close, greasy braid tied behind her ear. Compulsively,s he starts picking food out of it as she walks. //Alright, the big fellow is dazed, and the little fellow has a friend, that should give me time...//

Sadly, though a fan of egress, Minnie is not an expert in the art thereof - tactics are not her strong suit. The emptiest, easiest part of the crowd to travel, of course, is through the eye of the hurricanes, the dissipating circle of front row seats, as it were, and the opening roads through the crowd most easily lead in that direction, like paths in a forest that lead down to the river.

And then, the girl throws back a challenge, and all that release of tension? All the dissipation? Vanished, like magic. A woman elsewhere in the crowd belts out a, "Up and at her, Danny!"

The crowd is soon catcalling again, the circle lengthening into an ellipse, that reaches from bar, to the two tables, one full of vinegar cruets, the other beside the brawling kid and his companion. Money changes hands in the crowd. The bartender, used to this sort of nonsense, fingers a billy club behind, just that touch of knowing that, yes, its there, if things get out of hand, but they aren't, just yet. She'll watch a nice bareknuckles fight as soon as the next person.

And then, there is Minnie, suddenly at the inner border of a very firm circle. She tries to melt backwards into it, but who wants to make a hole now? And gallantry? She's one leaf in a maelstrom, easy to miss in the thrust and pulse of cheering bodies. She clutches her bag close, and crouches slightly, her eyes flying back and forth between the two opposing brawlers.

//Alright, Minnie. This isn't the first time you've seen a fight. This is just like when you were a girl, and Hannah would pick out one of the young ones. These thugs, they like someone who struggles, or someone who makes noise, don't you do either, and noone will be interested. Just... stay calm, don't draw attention, and keep your eyes open for a way out...//

[Daishira]

You cannot be serious...

Daishira stood up and clutched Weylin's arm from behind, tugging her backwards whilst he remained behind her, not moving forwards into the confrontation.

"What are you doing?!" He hissed into her ear.

He could not see why she would face the brawler once more. But there he was, looking hungry for Weylin, the boy, and a little towards Daishira himself, now that he got himself involved. This was not thrilling for him. He would have preferred to back down and run away, make an escape. Holding back from fighting is usually the best thing to do, in Daishira's experiences and his own personal opinion just followed his past. Weylin would get herself beaten up. Bad. She cannot continue to fight. If it was up to him, he would run as far away from that man as his tired legs would take him, even if it meant sprinting through the chills of Zeltivan winter. At least then, he would receive less injuries.

However, Daishira could already see Weylin's determination. The very state of her clenched fist by her side was enough for anyone to see she wanted to fight. He knew Weylin would fight, no matter what Daishira said. This meant then that the reluctant Kelvic would fight alongside her. He couldn't leave her in her state just as she was going to call for seconds. This only left the fighting choice.

Two against one would make far better odds for us. And this was true. If he fought, Weylin would be far more successful in the brawl. His angle blade was concealed in his leather jacket. For now, for starters, Daishira would fight fist to fist. Only if their lives were endangered would he unsheathe his angle blade. His big fork in stabbing the big game.

Just after he asked the question, Daishira placed his jacket containing the angle blade on his chair.

The crowd had reformed around them, an eclipse shape now once more holding the three brawlers captive in an enclosed scenario. The loud chants entangled with one another so any singular chant was incomprehensible. The musty, sweaty atmosphere tinted with beer and blood practically smothered him. He scanned the fluid wall for an opening, just in case he needed to escape. No such luck. However, there was that screaming woman, looking very out of place with the rest of the crowd. She clutched her bag as if that was some magical item that shielded her from the fight.

Man, do I feel sorry for you.

[Weylin Quickshot]

"What are you doing?!" she heard the hiss in her ear.
She paused for a moment, watching the crowded ring form about her. The cheers, the shouts, the scream for blood it was deafening. At first she was absorbed with the lust of fight, the want to feel fist against flesh. It made her feel alive. But it was Daishira that made her pause, it made her hesitate, it made her remember. If Weylin fought there was no doubt that the pair of them would be worse for wear. There was no two ways about it. The man was a brute after all, full of strength, full of rage. Daishira on the other hand readied himself although he seemed to have no real interest in fighting, and seemed reluctant to join in.

The Drykas swallowed, her eyes briefly darting through the crowd, searching for an escape she could at least push the Kelvic. Now he was involved, Weylin chose to make him a priority, a target she should protect. If that was at all possible. She could already feeling her body shaking, craving much needed adrenal to keep her going, her pains roaring out. Although her stance was strong, there was no way she could hold it for too long. She was simply too weak, but here stood this brute, ready to fight with his own blooded mess. It was going to be a long fight.
"Daishira," Weylin paused "If you want to run, I will not stop you. After all, this is not your fight."
She glanced back at him, a reassuring smile on her face "I'll be fine."
A lie, it was more than obvious, Weylin was far from fine even right now. But she wanted to protect him, even if it was pure foolishness. The second round of fighting had started even before blows were pulled.

The Brawler charged towards them, fists ready and so Weylin returned the start by stepping forward, her fists clenched and at the ready.
So, playing hero?
Not really.
Weylin pushed herself off, taking several quick strides, her fingers tightening, as she swung it at him. It struck against his face, but the movement was still slowed and underpowered, and so Weylin wheeled her other fist round to meet the brawler. But it never connected. She was grabbed by the collar again, reeled in close to his face, and so Weylin took a different tactic. Her head crashed against his, her foot raised and kicked him in the gut. The brute had no choice but to release her. She took the opening and threw her weight into him, using all her muscle strength to hold him back.

"Daishira! If you wan-" her words were silenced quickly as a fist came racing down.
The blow was immense, it sent her backwards, gasping for air, her lungs feeling as if they were exploding. She was not sure if there was blood or not, it did not matter anyway. She staggered up, trying to make herself stand. She had to finish this fight, and quickly. Her head was exploding in pain, blood streamed down her face, her previous look of determination having been replaced by a more frightening and animalistic expression. Her fingers wrapped around a tankard, and she forced herself into a charge. She pulled out the last of her strength, the screaming in her ears loud now as she made her legs move. She leapt a moment of suspension in the air as the tankard come racing down upon his head. It was the sound of smashing that sliced through the air, and for a moment the crowd went silent, wrapped in suspense. The brawler staggered, a weakened punch throwing Weylin back across the floor, before he too met the ground.

The air once more had escaped Weylin, but this time she had more damage upon her, her mind swum, her body returning to a state of numbness. Broken and torn, Weylin forced herself up, her mind swimming, her eyesight a blur before her. She let out a gasp, wiping her face that was creased in pain. Her eyes for a moment traced the crowd, before the Drykas pushed herself up, a weak gasp upon her lips "Anyone else? Or are we done now?"
A quiet mumble broke across the crowd, as Weylin gave a shaky lurch forward. She had to keep focused, if she lost her focus she would loose herself to the floor, a state that she could not let herself slip into.