Stupid antics are stupid (Hawkins)

[Naama]

20th Spring 511 AV It was nighttime. It was always nighttime, rather. At least, as far as Naama was concerned. The transition from day to night and night to day hardly took a toll on her biological clock, but the bars she found hidden among these fancy buildings was enough to pique her interest. So she did what she always did when she found a bar, she dragged Hawkins there. At, least, not before she was scrutinized and blatantly stared at by the general populace. Oh yes, even in the city of magic and all things crystal the lone wonder that was Naama would always be the center of attention until she found all the nooks and crannies riddling the layout of Lhavit to avoid detection. But now she was at a bar. Second to the sea, but high on the list of priorities. She sat at one of the round, dilapidated tables with a pint nestled on the wooden surface, right across from her sailing bucko. One sip and her lips split into a grin, but there was hardly much excitement in small talk and bantering. Wherever the pair went something always happened, it just so happened that the halfbreed thought it a good idea to incite it. A copper hand tapped the table rhythmically, her black eyes scouting the far reaches of the establishment with a trained eye. There were burly types, old types, foul-smelling thugs and mercenaries galore, and sailors, plenty of sailors. She took a long swig from her drink and carefully placed it back down on the table, leaning forward with that sickeningly sweet smile, “Let’s play a game, ey? Nothing fancy, just to practice our more dignified skills. That man over there in the corner, riiiight over there, the fat one with the beard that could house ten whores, I want you to try and get him to take those suspiciously hot peppers they sell here and rub it alll over his chest, especially those fancy male breasts he’s sporting there, then drop them in his pants.” Naama leaned back, crossed her legs and took another sip, “If you get him to do it, you can ask me to do something in return, if not, well…. Let’s just say you won’t be able to satisfy your third leg for quite a while. And if you refuse, automatic forfeit. Go on then!”

[Hawkins]

Why were they always out at night? One of these days Hawkins was going to see the sun. Well, more than likely he was going to squint at the late than turn back over for more sleep, but the point of the matter remind. It was always dark. Bugger. Relaxed, he sat with his head lulled back and his boots propped up on the table, coat left open and unwashed tunic in its full, pleasant glory. He nursed a cup in one hand, half empty bottle in the other. Truth be told he was half asleep. The occasional snicker he offered his companion was one skill in a long line of many that kept him alive. Half listening. While he partially dosed he still managed to retain a basic understanding on the words flung his way. He even itched at his beard on occasion, one of which that had become surly and almost unmanageable. To the people of Lhavit, of course, shaving did not concern Hawkins. Not so much as keeping his face warm. "Aye?" Hawkins leaned forward. Was she talking? Oh, crap, did she want something from him? His head shook and the sailor took a long - too long - draft from the bottle, seemingly unaware he was holding a mug as well. She said something about a game. Blinking, he turned toward Naama and eyed the woman with a quizzical expression. What was she on about? His head followed her instructions. At a gander he examined his prey to be, the fat fellow. And what was wrong with that beard? It was an admirable beard. A suitable set of facial expressions. Fine. He turned back about as the challenge continued. Once peppers entered the mix he had no option left to him other than one of complete defeat. What kind of idea was that? Really. The woman was insane. Completely, batshit crazy. Still. This wouldn't be so hard. "Do something, eh?" Hawkins spoke as he set his legs back on the floor and pushed his chair out. For confidence, he finished the bottle and set the mug back on the table, his balance only wavering for a moment or two before he acclimated himself to the steady floor. Somehow he still had trouble with that bit of walking. "Sit back, then, my feisty halfbreed, and learn a thing or three." And he was off. Ever the spectacle, Hawkins drew enough attention as he sauntered his way through the bar. Upon reaching his target destination he did little to acknowledge the presence of the fat man's contingent - two fellows, both of the more burly persuasion - and instead laid into the matter at hand. If he were less drunk, perhaps, he would have recognized the futility of the matter, and maybe he would have simply ignored Naama. But no. There was pride at stake. That and a few other things he was awfully fond of. The Myrian's ass, for instance, 'anything in return' was a very specific set of requests in Hawkins eyes. She knew it, he knew it, and the gods be damned if he was not going to make this fellow shove peppers down his pants, forcefully or otherwise. "Gentleman." He nodded, interrupting the conversation of the trio. They stopped and turned toward the sailor, looks of disinterest and ever present companion. "Might I interest you three in a great deal of a secret, hm? My friend," He motioned with his head back to Naama. "Don't look!" They did. "Well anyway, my friend, that lovely woman over there, made it evidently clear that she believes the lot of you were, to say it bluntly, intimate." There was a rustle of disapproving rumblings and an exchange of angry glances. "And truth be told, I'm not one to disagree agree with her, yes? But to business then, see, I have a proposi-" Hawkins never got a chance to finish. Enraged, one of the larger men stood up, his girth a great deal more girthy than the sailor had anticipated. The next stage was obvious. Senor Girth punched at the man. Strangely, Hawkins did little to avoid it. Instead, he took the hit straight on and stepped back, his head reeling backward from the impact. Ah, yes. The bottle. Fair was fair after all. With a step the sailor returned the gesture, glass colliding against skull in a clash that screamed for intervention. That went well.

[Naama]

This was the best part about getting Hawkins tipsy….er. Sometimes she knew how to play the cards, and at this point in time, especially with the drink in her hand, it would be a spectacle to laugh at for many days to come. Provided, of course, her friend actually managed to do what she’d proposed him to do. And from the looks of it, Hawkins’ luck has run out. Seated comfortably, Naama watched as Hawkins approached the clutch of men in the corner, smiling smugly. Except of course, the confrontation barely lasted five minutes. The halfbreed watched with a disappointed frown as the enraged Girth swung a meaty fist toward the sailor, and in retaliation the ever-notorious bottle smashing. Petch, why ruin all the fun? She sighed mentally, pushing her chair back to stand. Every man in the bar had their eyes trained on the ensemble of men, waiting. “That’s no way to treat my dashing partner, gentlemen,” Naama called, “I still need him, you know, to do… fun things, like washing my boots.” Masseur Beardo, with his puffy red cheeks and blood shot eyes turned to address the lady, “Ye the ’ore tha’ called us queer, ey?” He rumbled, his chest heaving as if he was sucking the oxygen straight from the room. “Now really, good sir, I never would assume to call you queer, but on the other hand I did have a wager whether you’d smear some peppers on those fabulous tits you have there. I swear they could rival Semele’s--” That’d done it. Beardo charged like a frothing bull, straight at the halfbreed, “Oh come now, that was a compliment--!” Naama barked, and with a broadsword swinging down on her head, the Myrian raised her swords and caught it between the hooks. Her grip was quickly wavering. Beardo was petching strong, but what he made up in strength he lacked in speed, and that was Naama’s advantage. She leaped away just in time for the sword to come smashing down on the floorboards. The other two beasts were trailing Hawkins like annoying fruit flies, swinging their own brandished weapons. “Just for the record, you lost this dare, Hawkins!” She shouted above the growing cacophony of male voices that erupted all around them. The delicate peace of the establishment had once again been broken.

[Hawkins]

"Don't be so quick to call it!"[/b] Hawkins stumbled. He swept to the side as an angry blade cleaved into the table at his back. Ooh. They were angry. In a fast, almost graceful motion, the man brandished his own blade and spun about, the edge of his cutlass glancing against the flat of the strange, curved weapon of his antagonist. Why did he get two men? And why were they using swords? Bugger. He spun away. The others followed. In his fashion, Hawkins defended himself across the bar. His own sword come about as one of the men pressed his advantage, metal clashing against metal in a clarion call of warning to the other, less savory inhabitants. In a flurry Hawkins stepped aside and grabbed a table. Ignoring the plight of the calmer patrons, he flipped the wooden construct over and kicked at the base, sending it spiraling into one of his aggressors and interrupting a game with all sorts of coin hitting the floor. The owners were not impressed. Whoops. At least these men weren't armed. Right? Oh. Maybe they were. Hawkins blinked. Then he dove. Away. He hit the ground with an unceremonious thud, rolling aside and finding his feet in less than a moment. He was up again. It appeared the table of players and his previous pursuer were also at odds. Oh. My. From the looks of it most of the bar was doing what they could to ignore the antics, or they were still trying to figure out just what in all the void was going on. Opportunity struck. Taking advantage of his momentary lapse of running for his life, Hawkins grabbed a stray bottle and flung and turned, smashing the edge of it against some poor fellow's head. He fell. Hawkins ducked. His compatriots, confused, rose in protest as they sought the bastard responsible. Were those fellows still arguing? Popping up again, the sailor slipped his sword behind his back and thumbed over his shoulder at the group that was - by now - looking for him. "They're not very careful, eh?" He grinned. The men glared. It was only a few moments before the entire bar erupted into a frantic, glorious brawl.