Open Who wants some?

[Logan Storm]

20th of Spring, 515 AV

Logan walked into the drunken fish, fists hardened and eyes blood shot with anger. He looked around the room, making out every single sailor, gang member, or just regular man and woman enjoying a meal.

The first floor of the building was made as an eatery for the port people to relax after, or before or during, a days hard work. It was also the perfect place for Logan to go if ever he wanted good alcohol in his system. And today, he needed all the alcohol he could get.

He made his way through a crowd. Not really caring about the people around him, he began knocking into anyone who stood in front of him. This attracted the attention of almost everyone in the room, but nothing happened just yet.

A waitress/slave was taking orders from a customers, but not anymore! Logan stormed to her and forcefully pulled the slave from the booth to another that had no one in it.

He sat at the table and released the slaves wrist which she held. She shook it vigorously to forget the pain while Logan spoke. "I want whine, at least a gallon of it, and I want it now."

"Mister I was bu-" the slave began, but Logan interrupted with a drop of two gold mizas on the table. "I didn't say I wanted to hear your damn mouth. I said a wanted whine!"

The woman nodded, took the Miza, then quickly left to take his order.

[Roderick]

The Drunken Fish was generally not the place Roderick went when he needed a drink. The Pig's Foot Tavern was his chosen drinking place, if only because Merv disliked him instinctively for his foreign accent and manners and so didn't care if the Zeltivan sulked at the bar or started muttering about how bad his day had been. At that particular moment however he wasn't in the mood to make the trip over there and so instead had slumped down at the second, somewhat unfamiliar bar and waited to be served. Suffering a perpetual hangover he was overjoyed when his order arrived and he was delivered a mug. Taking a few quick chugs he felt his tongue curl at the taste and then turned himself around to survey the room. As quiet and boring as it could get - at least by this cities standards. Steadily flowing through the doors the patrons all immediately began making their way towards the bar. All too soon he found it to be too cramped for his liking and so he started gently pushing his way through the crowd. Finding a spot at one of the tables he sat down and cradled his mug, letting his mind wander while the sounds of drunken howling drowned out any intelligible conversation. Sipping steadily on his ale, he soon felt the familiar numbness fill his head, relieving his pain and helping him to forget. Draining it completely he rose somewhat unsteadily to his feet and was about to begin making his way over to the bar to order another drink when the door slammed against the wall and a man came storming in, shoving his way through the crowd. Starting his walk back to the bar, the Zeltivan suddenly found himself being roughly thrown out of the way. Palms striking the wood of the nearest table, he collided with the drunk sitting nearby, who swiftly rose to his feet and seized him by the shirt. Instinctively, Roderick turned himself about and drove his knee upwards into the mans groin. As the man doubled over and backed away the hunter brought his mug down on the back of the mans head, dropping him to the floor. Immediately two other men leaped up out of their chairs and moved towards him. Hurling his mug at the one to the right, he turned and threw a quick jab, which the man avoided, followed by a hard punch from his left. Landing the second on the mans jaw, it barely seemed to hinder him as he delivered a trio of vicious punches which sent Roderick stumbling backwards into the arms of the other man. Kicking backwards wildly with his leg he started to elbow his captor, alternately left and right, using his foot to push the other away as his fists started to pummel into his stomach. Still snared, Roderick awkwardly reached around and grabbed the one thing he knew would make the man hurt; clamping his hand around his assailants manhood, he heard the man gasp as he twisted his wrist. Throwing his head back he found himself completely free, just in time to be delivered a hard punch in the face. Falling backwards over a chair, he rose shakily and started to run. Slamming into the man they both fell to the floor, the Zeltivan quickly gaining the advantage with his greater size. The drunk shielded himself with his arms, so Roderick grabbed one wrist and continued punching with his free hand. Getting a few good hits in, with some being deflected by the drunkards arm, the man became dazed enough so that Roderick could swing wildly with both fists. Seized again he was thrown away to the side and looking up saw the angry bearded face of the mans friend. Rolling away and scrambling to his feet, he grabbed the nearest beer mug he could find and swung, missing entirely. Grabbed before he could swing, he found himself being thrown onto a table. Dropping the mug he punched the mans sides as hands were wrapped around his throat, slowly squeezing the breath from him. Someone grabbed the strangler and started pulling him off. Rising with a gasp, Roderick punched him in the gut while he was distracted and then whipped his head forwards, forehead colliding with the thugs nose. Still being pulled away, a cruel punch to the throat ended the bout between them. Looking over at the other thug, who was only just getting to his feet, Roderick picked up a nearby chair and, raising it above his head, brought it crashing down on the mans back. He managed it once more before he tossed the rickety old thing and resorted to giving him a few more hard kicks. Sore and breathing heavily, he looked around the room as the drunken cheering died down, before everyone went back to their business. Glancing towards the man in the corner who'd helped spark the fight off, Roderick helped himself to the mug of one of the drunks. "Thanks for that one, mate." He commented sourly, more than loud enough for the man to hear. Throwing back his head he drank what little was left of the lukewarm ale in the mug, tossing it back onto the table.

[Logan Storm]

The whine was too slow to arrive and Logan was near his anger limit. A man just next to him was enjoying a nice drink with a plate full of food on his table. The sight pissed Logan off. He stared at the man for a little and contemplated how hard it would be to throw someone out a window, just to stop hearing the repulsive chewing and sipping the man made. Over and over and over and over again.

Logan was about to lose it and test his window theory before he heard new commotion. It came from his left side. Past the area where Logan had finished shoving who ever stood in his way out his way. There was a fight, a tussle, a scuffle, a squabble, a battle between three drunken idiots and Logan wasn't a part of it!

He watched with predatory eyes as one man battled against many. A punch to the jaw, a lot of slams of a chair and the battle was over. Other sailors who where enjoying the brawl dialed down their amusement and slowly drifted back to their calm state.

As Logan was about to do the same, calm state not appearing however, some words came from his left that grabbed his attention.

"Thanks for that one, mate," came the sneer. Logan turned slowly to meet the gaze of the man who spoke, then watched the man drink down what ever liquid poison was in the cup.

Logan rose to his feet slowly, his atmosphere radiating with what appeared to be calm. He stared only at the man and waited for him to finish his drink before he would start.

"I want you to say that again, but say it like you actually mean it."

He started a slow trek to the man, atmosphere still oozing with what one could assume was tranquility. "Better yet," he continued. "I want to hear what you actually mean, not some stupid sarcastic remark."

Logan would not stop walking until he was close to the mans face. Not until he could smell the horrid stench of booze on the mans breath. He wouldn't stop until their eyes met clearly and until the man could know just how ticked off Logan was today.

[Roderick]

Fuck... The light cloud over his head, while not enough to make him particularly addled or confused, had certainly not done anything good for him. In hindsight he should have sat back down without saying a word and left the man alone. No doubt he was having a bad day, from the way he sat glaring at everyone as though they'd personally spat in his face and violated his mother. Taking back his words now though wouldn't do anything helpful and just make him look like a fool in front of every person in the tavern, who all looked toward the two men as a confrontation began to brew. The calm way the stranger rose from his chair told Roderick that he had quite possibly just picked a fight with the wrong man; little things from the way he held himself, his cocksure manner. He was the sort who knew how to fight, that much was abundantly clear. Staring down slightly at Logan, Roderick began to wonder if he should continue, or back down. His face was a mask which told nothing, but internally he was conflicted. Before he had a chance to decide there were heavy footsteps and the crowd all turned to look at the newcomers. Walking away while keeping his eyes on Logan for as long as he could, he stood on the other side of the circle of onlookers. Finally he turned his gaze towards the door. Five men were standing there silently, surveying the scene. "What little shit did this?" The central thug demanded, raking his eyes over the crowd. "What whoreson is begging to get his head kicked in." "Huh. You know maybe I don't need to pick a fight with this lad. At least not on my own... He smiled at the thugs and raised an accusing finger. "There's your whoreson right there." The air was tense as everyone turned to look at Logan, who now held the spotlight. Such a colossal risk could very well get him into even deeper trouble, but then he could potentially get out of this without adding any extra bruises. To his relief a few tics later a large number of the patrons shouted agreement, mostly those Logan had shoved aside, or simply people looking to cause some trouble. "That so?" Several people shouted out in disagreement "The big ones talkin' shit - he started it." After a moment of deliberation the thug shrugged and, almost nonchalantly, said "Put them both down!" Three of the thugs immediately surged forward to confront Logan, while the other two moved towards Roderick. Immediately chaos erupted as the tension in the room exploded and both the hunter and Logan were suddenly enveloped in a crowd which kept them separated. Eh, good enough.

[Logan Storm]

Who Logan looked upon was a scruffy man with no expression. He was taller than Logan, his face cleanly shaven. The man was also skinnier than Logan, but there was little doubt that this man was no challenge. He had just taken care of more than two thugs, who were still laying on the ground.

The man did not back down; which was made him quite a bold guy, maybe even bolder than Logan.

Logan wanted to do something. He wanted to knock a new emotion into the mans eyes, twist his arms until the man could no longer hold a cup. He wanted to see this man bleed from between the lips, hear the girlish wales that he was sure this man could muster. Logan wanted this man to know pain, to know the horror that everyone experienced before they met the light at the end of the tunnel.

The man said nothing, just stared. Their eyes still interlocked on each other. The two stayed in the same position, staring each other down before new commotion began. A new set of men walked into the building. Five in total. They were surprised to see the site of their companions destroyed, but Logan barely noticed them enough to hear what they had to say. His eyes stayed on the man in front of him, who shifted out of Logan's way.

Then, the man finally spoke again. "There's your whoreson right there," the man pointed at Logan, and suddenly there where others roaring in agreement. Logan counted them all. EVERY person that said yes, or shouted yeah from the top of their lungs. He looked at them with hungry eyes. Then, others spoke up.

Within a matter of ticks the room was full of people shouting unclear words, pointing at the clean shaven man while they did so. The arguments ended when someone in front of the room said, "Put them both down!"

Three people began walking towards Logan. He looked at all three of them watchfully. They crowded him. He backed away to the nearest pole that stood the building. They looked at him with satisfied eyes, as though they already had him beaten, bloodied, and begging for mercy. It pissed him off. They all came after him at once, and altogether they began to regret their choice of enemy.

Logan quickly moved, first delivering a left jab to the man who was to the left of him. His movement was so fast, so swift, to where the man could barely notice him. His quick thinking took the three by surprise. Logan took advantage of their stunned bodies and shocked expressions to deliver a left hay-maker to the person who was to the right of him. This one went down quickly, and Logan could feel the snapping of a bone, he could also see the small splatter of red liquid on his knuckles.

The last one, the middle one, was quickly understanding the new situation. The person they were facing knew how to fight, and did it nearly flawless. From the look in this man's eye, Logan could tell that the man knew what to do next.

The man raced towards Logan. Logan, who was carefully watching this man, raced towards him as well. A little bit quicker on his feet, Logan elbowed the man dead in the face, hit right on the left eye. The man back tracked, wanted to back away and regain his ground, but Logan would not allow him the chance to recover. He held tight on the man's left wrist and forced the mans left upper arm bone into the back pole.

There was a funny thing about breaking someone's bone. You did not always know when it was broken, you could never tell until that person made a blood curdling scream and held the broken bone with intensity. Not until the person knees became weak and their minds became putty under the terrible pain.

The man Logan held fell to the ground and began to silently weep. Logan back stepped away, and turned to the last man standing, the one who's lip Logan had busted from the hard left he had gave. The man looked scared. One of his friends nose was busted, but alive, the others arm dislocated, yet Logan looked as though he had barely broken a sweat. What would anyone do in this situation? What was the best option?

The man made a fast decision and ran, turned and darted right to the door, but Logan was right behind him. Like a wolf chasing after his prey who had decided to run to avoid an unavoidable death. Logan caught up with the man, close enough to hold onto the mans clothing, which he did. He placed down a heavy foot that slowed the man long enough for Logan to deliver a left elbow to the mans face.

The man swung at Logan to defend himself, but he ducked. He held onto the mans waste with both hands and lifted the man up. The man weighed little in Logan's grasp. He was like a baby who was just delivered, light and easy to destroy. The man was in the air, but quickly crashed down onto a table, splitting it into two.

The people around were sent to an uproar. They reveled in what Logan had done, fed him appraise and approval. But Logan was not all that happy. Still upset, but not very angry anymore.

He was now lying on the downed mans chest. He had to send himself down on his attacker to send his attacker through the table. When he rose, he felt his stomach, waste, and back throb with pain. He had to stretch just to release a little of the stress.

He then bent on one knee and began riffling through the mans clothing. Out came a money bag, filled with only small change. Satisfied with what he found, he stood to survey the environment, and watch the fight next to him.