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Alcohol; I love you more than..(Group PM to join)
Topic Started: Aug 28 2009, 04:18 AM (1,279 Views)
Zilabus
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Er'ry day I'm overseein'
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Things went south quickly as neither side backed down. When people got agressive, Eli's first instinct was usually to run. It wouldn't be absolutely appropriate given the current situation. You didn't abandon friends, unless your life depended on it. A quick metallic click brought Eli's eyes into focus. Luckily, it was just the sound of a switchblade, and not any kind of firearm. As he returned his gaze forward, he saw a splash of flame, and a man grasping his face with a yelp.

Things where getting a little out of hand. One man took a forceful step forward. He was a good head shorter then Eli, but a lot thicker, too. Eli stepped back. "Hey, hey, hey, hey. Easy ther maaa-" The man sprung forward and forcefully gripped one of Eli's long arms. In a quick motion, he spun Eli around, and pinned the arm, now twisted, against Eli's back. Eli was forced down to his knees. "What the hell! Calm down!" The man leaned all of his weight into a push downward, and Eli fell onto his stomach.

"You asked for it, asshole." Eli spun as hard as he could in the opposite direction, untwisting his arm, and bringing a flat palm onto the side of the mans ear, hitting with a reasuring noise, and shifting the momentum, pushing his opponent towards the floor. The other man spun again, this time bringing Eli down on his back, and forcefully slamming down on him with his knees. As all of the air in Eli's lungs shot out, the man started to rain down sloppy fists on Eli's face. Every time Eli tried to return a blow, the man would lean away, and Eli couldn't reach him.

He responded by hitting the man in the groin with an awkkwardly twisted Elbow. As he started to force the heavier man off of him, he threw a quick glance at betty.
Eli "Slim" Ambrose
SPECIAL: 3, 9, 2, 7, 9, 3, 7
Level: 5
Bucket town reputation: -175
Equipment
Weaponry: Molotov, Cherry bombs, Combat Knife, Laser pistol, Tack Mines, Smoke grenades, Syringes.
Armor:Post-war suit Tattered leather jacket
Inventory
Homemade shotgun, Gumballs, Bedspread
Mentats x3, Psycho x2, Jet x1, Wiskey x2, vodka
4 1/2 x Hides, 15 LSB dollars
Appearance
Caucasian
Very tall, lanky, and slim, jet black hair in a greased into a subdued pompadore style. Dark eyes and a cleanshaven face. Brown Windowpane suit.

Kelly "Featherweight" Capozzi
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Radiation King
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"We can't stop here! This is bat country!"
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Zil, you magnificent bastard, my dad owns almost the exact same gun you have in your sig.))

Darrel was overwhelmed by the sudden blur of activity around him. One minute he was attempting to make a drunk back off, the next minute there was a gout of flame singing the back of his blade hand and overheating the handle of his switchblade, accidentally overheating it and causing Cohen to drop his beloved knife, and recieve a palm to the forehead for his troubles.

The thief's trilby seemed to hang comically in the air for a second while Cohen headed for the floor, ears ringing from the surprise attack. Darrel stuck his arms out behind him and felt them hit the floor. As soon as his palms struck, he jerked his arms straight suddenly and rolled forwards, almost as if he was break-dancing. He threw his weight forward and planted a fist in the drunk's ribcage, causing him to stagger but in reality more or less enraging him. Darrel narrowly dodged a potentially knock-out haymaker, which tossed his hat over behind the bar, making another trinket lost in the fight for the night. Darrel scowled.

"You lost my hat, and my knife!" Darrel shouted suddenly. "And now I'm gonna kick yer ass!"
Darrel Cohen, the smooth-talking "Gentleman Thief" (Level 3)

Evan Laramie, the down-home gunslinger (Level 1)
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Run4
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Iron Crow
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Caleb was toying with the next prick to try it on with him. The others were busy bumbling drunkenly after the others as Caleb pinned their bald friend's arms and ignored his ineffectual kicks while keeping his head just out of headbutt-range. Caleb laughed, shifting his weight away rapidly and pulling baldy with him. Then he sidestepped, turned a full 180 and pulled the man's arms, and consequently his entire upper body downwards and back the way Caleb had pulled him from, sending him to the floor, ass over head. While in the air, the man flailed wildly, unintentionally battering his friend away as the other man came to help him against Caleb. The man who Caleb had set on fire had apparently recovered, but was missing more than half of his beard.

The one on the floor was getting back up as Caleb squared up to his friend, and with an incoherent roar, he gore-tackled Caleb, staggering him and finally bringing him to the ground. Caleb grabbed baldy's shirt sleeves with one hand, preventing a painful ground and pound while he plunged his index and middle fingers up the man's nose. Caleb then fish-hooked the man away. Wisely, he rolled off Caleb in preference to having his nose ripped off. His bearded friend stepped towards Caleb just as he threw him off, forcing Caleb to roll backwards and wind up crashing into a table. From his position on the ground, Caleb grabbed the legs of a small stool and tossed it into the oncoming bearded man's shins, knocking him to the ground as it knocked his leg off-kilter as he was in mid-step. Caleb stood up and nodded to the two of them. The first one was waiting until his friend with the battered shins got back up.

Caleb didn't give the backup a chance, kicking the rising beardy to the ground again before using his lower back as a springboard for a flying elbow to the baldy's face. Caleb pushed baldy's guard down as he came over the top with his elbow, striking straight into the unfortunate man's nose, sending him to the floor, where he lay still for the time being, whimpering and nursing his bleeding face. Caleb turned to beardy and raised an eyebrow.

"You too?" Caleb asked, returning to a fighting stance and facing down the one with the beard as the bar erupted into chaos around him, people trying to flee or trying to join the fight. Others still were using the fight as an excuse to jump an old enemy or rival.
[align=center]Posted Image
HenchmenF
 
"Anyway. Then me and CP were like "Lul, wut?" and then Run had to step in and use his e-peen as a riot baton and then Doffa sorta left."

Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory)
Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align]
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Clearing
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Official Code-Puppy
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Betty sat, frozen to the spot, just watching. It didn't take long for the fight to accelerate from 'mean looks and words exchanged' to 'kill those sons of bitches.' She stared blankly at the group, trying to think of something useful to do. It wasn't as though any of them were lining up to get in a fight. It was a mixture of everyone's 'I'm not gonna hit a girl' complex that was naturally built in and 'she couldn't possibly do any damage to us' mentality.

Watching Eli "fight" was amusing and sad at the same time. It was a lot like watching a lion take down a baby zebra. Wait...that doesn't quite work. Different metaphor...Different metaphor... It was really more like watching a lion take down a giraffe. Yeah. That sounded about right. Eli was quite the featherweight, even more than she expected. He crumpled like tissue.

Eli gave her a look from below the guy who was probably very soon to be breaking his spine like a toothpick. That was probably a cue to help him.

Jumping off her seat, she subconsciously reached for her crowbar. And found nothing. Oh that can't be good. She looked in a less-than-frantic manner for the closest thing. Bar stool...empty glass...barstool...Oh! She snatched the empty glass and threw it at the man's head. It missed at hit his shoulder. Oh well. It served it's purpose.

The lionguy rose, much angrier now, stood up and glared and Betty. "Y'know, girly. I got a blackbelt."

"Yeah. I do to. I got one in barstool." She picked up the stool next to her and pushed the legs into the stomach of Lion-hulk. He huffed slightly and stumbled backwards a little. It wasn't very damaging. Shit. I'm gonna di-- Then, he fell back. And slammed his head on a table with a loud "CRASCK." He had slipped and passed out via table-whack.

"Err...You okay, Eli?" Betty said, placing the barstool down before she hit someone.
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Radiation King
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"We can't stop here! This is bat country!"
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
"Whassat, big guy, you wanna dance? You wanna take a quick jab at the squishy looking little guy, eh?" Darrel said, waving his arms in an attack-provoking fashion. He puffed his chest out, hucked full, half-full or empty tankards, and continued to shout insults pertaining to sexual acts involving his opponent's mother until there was no room left to back up. It was at this point where Darrel's thoughts flashed briefly to the future- the very near, hypothetical future, where he was resting in a ditch with half of his teeth knocked out and- worse still- his hat destroyed. He shook his head and prepared for the worst.

The worst came surprisingly quickly for Darrel. Fate flipped its coin, heads his face wasn't wrecked, tails it connected quite nicely. Tails came up, and Darrel tried to duck. He failed miserably, catching a right haymaker across his cheek and getting lifted across the floor and over the bar table. The iron taste of blood filled his mouth as he hit the ground behind the bar. "Dammit," the thief said quietly to himself, spitting out a mouthfull of blood. Apparently the tip of his tongue was now gone, and blood was trying to replace the missing hole. Darrel scowled hard, and stood up. His head protested loudly, thudding with pain, as he turned to face the massive drunk again. Darrel grabbed one of the bottles behind him, broke it and wielded the sharp end like a dagger. It was better than nothing, what with his switchblade lost in the scuffle. He leapt over the bar and planted two boots in the man's face, then leaned forward and put more weight into him as he landed.

The big guy toppled, dragging Darrel along for the ride. The thief stamped down repeatedly on the drunk's chest before finally kneeling and punching him three times in the face, putting him down for the count. Darrel spat another mouthful of his blood and saliva into the man's face. "And good riddance," he said, coughing as he set out to find his switchblade and hat again.
Darrel Cohen, the smooth-talking "Gentleman Thief" (Level 3)

Evan Laramie, the down-home gunslinger (Level 1)
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Run4
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Iron Crow
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((OOC: Guess it's back to me if we wanna restore the post order))

Caleb was taunting the bearded man, holding his hands out to the side as his would-be opponent stood across a small gap in the now sprawling combat in the bar. Caleb alternated between poorly-thought-out taunts and crude gestures, most of which involved the drunk's stupid beard and how much it looked like his mother's beard. The gestures were, for the most part, generic and almost childishly vulgar. Caleb started shifting into tribal taunts, dropping into a horse stance and pounding his chest, occassionally slapping his thighs while going through a menacing series of angry facial expressions, all of which seemed to be making threats about eating and killing the bearded drunk, and not necessarily in that order.

Someone in the passing melee spotted Caleb's vulgar display of physical power, and clubbed him with a wine bottle. Caleb's eyes rolled as the impact caught him unawares, and he rapidly staggered in a vain attempt to regain his balance. He failed at doing so. He keeled over, his legs flailing comically as he hit the ground and rolled like a baby attempting to crawl. He could feel a bump forming on his head where the bottle had impacted, and he was nauseous from the combination of greivous bottley harm and the ungodly amounts of rum and bourbon he'd been drinking for the past god-knows-how-long.

Caleb forced himself back to his feet, the room spinning as he stumbled slightly. Booze catching up on him then. He grabbed the bearded one, ignoring the mind-rattling punch he took on the way in and butted his head into the man's chest, before swinging it upwards under the man's chin, cracking his teeth together and swinging his head back. As the bearded drunk's head swung back into position, blood seeping from his mouth, Caleb swung his own head downwards straight into the bearded one's face, cracking his nose and sending him to the ground, out like a light. Caleb lost his balance again as he recoiled from the head-on impact and fell backwards onto a bench, shouting something that sounded vageuly like "Timber!" as he went down. Caleb, though tempted to curl up and have a nice sleep on the unnaturally comfortable bench, stood back up after a few minutes, grabbing a large wine bottle and brandishing it wildly at the other pricks gathered around his buddies. He staggered as he walked over to them, drinking all of the wine he noticed was left in the bottle, while snatching a pitcher of what tasted like a rum-vodka-cough-syrup mix from a nearby table and dipping into that too. He epitomised the concept of the Viking Berserker, drunk off his face, pissed off and dangerous. And ready to kick the bejesus out of the nearest asshole to mess with his crew!
[align=center]Posted Image
HenchmenF
 
"Anyway. Then me and CP were like "Lul, wut?" and then Run had to step in and use his e-peen as a riot baton and then Doffa sorta left."

Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory)
Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align]
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Zilabus
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Er'ry day I'm overseein'
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
"Err...You okay, Eli?"

Eli laughed a nervously. When he smiled, he felt one of his bottom teeth shift, and blood drip down. It fell out, and he played with it on his tongue. It was embaressing, being such a poor fighter. For some reason, whenever it came down to fists, Eli lost, and he hated it. "Yeah. I'll be fine. I think I'll be fine, at least. Thanks, Betty, I'll owe you one." He was lying through his teeth. He didn't feel fine, he was in some serious pain, but some old bravado compelled him to lie about it.

He looked around. The fight was degenerating even moreso then it had at first. There seemed to be a split second where the fight divided again, the two groups re-seperated. Eli took the second to catch his breath. Most of the fights where turning out to be very, very one-sided. As the two groups recollided, Eli reached back for his gun, and cocked back the hammer. "Hey! Calm the fuck down, and back off!" Nobody listened. Nobody ever did when they where stuck in the blur of a fight. "Back off!"

Again, nobody seemd to respond. Eli reached back for his pistol again. He knew it was loaded, just by the heft of it. He didn't intend to shoot anyone, but he did intend to shoot it. Nothing grabbed attention like a gunshot. Then again, it wouldn't help much if he got tackled before he could pull his gun out.


((So, I don't know if you guys wanna keep it going or what. Do whatever. ))
Eli "Slim" Ambrose
SPECIAL: 3, 9, 2, 7, 9, 3, 7
Level: 5
Bucket town reputation: -175
Equipment
Weaponry: Molotov, Cherry bombs, Combat Knife, Laser pistol, Tack Mines, Smoke grenades, Syringes.
Armor:Post-war suit Tattered leather jacket
Inventory
Homemade shotgun, Gumballs, Bedspread
Mentats x3, Psycho x2, Jet x1, Wiskey x2, vodka
4 1/2 x Hides, 15 LSB dollars
Appearance
Caucasian
Very tall, lanky, and slim, jet black hair in a greased into a subdued pompadore style. Dark eyes and a cleanshaven face. Brown Windowpane suit.

Kelly "Featherweight" Capozzi
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Clearing
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Official Code-Puppy
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((I think I'm gonna wrap it up.))

Eli looked angry, and was reaching for his gun. Betty jumped. Probably a bit of an overreaction, but he looked pretty fucking mad. She didn't really think he would shoot anybody, but what did she know? She hadn't exactly known him for all that long. Not everyone was as nice as they seemed. Eli seemed to be an upstanding sort of guy, even if he did have his crooked bits.

However, it seemed to be at least a tipping point. Enough of the ass-hat brigade had gotten the tar beaten out of them that even the drunkest ones were backing off. While they were perverts, they at least had their priorities straight. It was probably more of a ‘fear the Caleb’ sort of situation, but perhaps Eli looked angry enough to pump someone full of lead.

Before long, things returned to quiet. Drunkards left, late-comers to the drunken evening came in. Betty decided it was probably about time to make her own exit.

“Hey, Eli. While I may be drunk and...alright, a bit stupid, too...I ain’t unepenthetic. Is that a word? I don’t think so. I’m trying to say I’m epithetic. You just got the shit beaten out of you. C’mon. I’ll bandage you up.” Betty said, grabbing onto Eli’s arm and motioning towards the door. “You obviously ain’t good at the whole ‘bein’ in pain thing and not showin’ it.’ C’mon, Twigs.”

Then, with a sly smile and a wink she said, “I have a nurses outfit. Wanna see it?”
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Clearing
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[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((So uh...I think this can be graded bout now. Doesn't look like anyone is lining up post, so...Grade away.))
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Cewebwalz
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Henshin a go-go baby
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
(OOC-Is Ellie getting lucky?)
Jesse Winters - Penitentiary Pugilist
8(+2).5.7.5.5.8.4, Level: 4 -HC-

Grace Van Vliet - Indie Incinerator
5.7.7.5.5.4.7, Level: 3 -HC-
Quote:
 
Lmgthev:� Like tbh I agree CP is not the golden boy at all
Lmgthev:� You're like John Candy from Cool Runnings
Lmgthev:� Washed up has been who teaches the newcomers the trade� :D

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"What is Adderal, anyhow?" - Funky Fan
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Radiation King
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"We can't stop here! This is bat country!"
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((+1 CHA for Eli))
Darrel Cohen, the smooth-talking "Gentleman Thief" (Level 3)

Evan Laramie, the down-home gunslinger (Level 1)
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Cewebwalz
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Henshin a go-go baby
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
(OOC-Lucky bastard......)
Jesse Winters - Penitentiary Pugilist
8(+2).5.7.5.5.8.4, Level: 4 -HC-

Grace Van Vliet - Indie Incinerator
5.7.7.5.5.4.7, Level: 3 -HC-
Quote:
 
Lmgthev:� Like tbh I agree CP is not the golden boy at all
Lmgthev:� You're like John Candy from Cool Runnings
Lmgthev:� Washed up has been who teaches the newcomers the trade� :D

full-sized avatar

"What is Adderal, anyhow?" - Funky Fan
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Radiation King
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"We can't stop here! This is bat country!"
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((One last post.))

"What, I don't get to see it?" Darrel joked out loud, a bit too loudly actually. He scratched his head and began sorting through the detritus scattered about the floor, looking for his equipment. His cherished hat was around there somewhere, and he wanted it back. He found his switchblade beneath a moaning drunkard with mild back pains due to resting on the knife's closed handle. Shifting the drunk out of the way, Darrel pocketed his knife and set about looking for his hat.

"Well, that's odd," Darrel said when he finally found it. His trilby had made its way out the front door and was resting on the head of a triumphant looking bum, who was missing several teeth, had a black eye and was clutching several bottles of booze, both home-made and otherwise. The thief lost one more tooth that night, as well as his "new" hat.

Straightening the trilby over his forehead, perched just the way he liked it, Darrel bid his leave from the little group and walked off into the streets.
Darrel Cohen, the smooth-talking "Gentleman Thief" (Level 3)

Evan Laramie, the down-home gunslinger (Level 1)
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Run4
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Iron Crow
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((OOC:Right, I'll make my last post))

As the bar calmed down, Caleb sighed and leaned against the bar. He'd been making eyes at some stranger for a while now, and she seemed to be responding well to him. As long as she didn't expect him to talk much, this could go well. He heard Eli and Betty talking. Something about a nurse suit and a comfy bed. Caleb choked on his beer. Wincing and swallowing the home-brewed swill, Caleb turned to face Eli. He nudged his way through the people at the bar and leaned in to Eli, speaking right in his ear while Betty was distracted by a passing drinks tray.

"She's younger'n you or me Eli. Still sees some wonder in the world. Do right by her, Slim," Caleb said before slapping Eli on the shoulder and staggering out the door and starting into a bawdy song. Tone-deaf as he was, Caleb murdered the song with the proverbial serving fork. He curled up in a nearby house, not entirely sure why the owner had invited him in, but he was happy to have a place to lay his head.
[align=center]Posted Image
HenchmenF
 
"Anyway. Then me and CP were like "Lul, wut?" and then Run had to step in and use his e-peen as a riot baton and then Doffa sorta left."

Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory)
Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align]
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Zilabus
Member Avatar
Er'ry day I'm overseein'
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
I suppose I'll just grade this now.
That's a looot of people. So I'll just do a simple reward.

Quote:
 
Rewards:
Eli: Southern Comfort x1
Betty: Peach schnapps x1
Caleb: Rum x1
Darrel: Whisky x1
Patrick: Brandy x1
Dave: Vodka x1


Yeah, I thought about it hard enough to attempt to match spirits with character personalities. It was kinda fun to do.
Eli "Slim" Ambrose
SPECIAL: 3, 9, 2, 7, 9, 3, 7
Level: 5
Bucket town reputation: -175
Equipment
Weaponry: Molotov, Cherry bombs, Combat Knife, Laser pistol, Tack Mines, Smoke grenades, Syringes.
Armor:Post-war suit Tattered leather jacket
Inventory
Homemade shotgun, Gumballs, Bedspread
Mentats x3, Psycho x2, Jet x1, Wiskey x2, vodka
4 1/2 x Hides, 15 LSB dollars
Appearance
Caucasian
Very tall, lanky, and slim, jet black hair in a greased into a subdued pompadore style. Dark eyes and a cleanshaven face. Brown Windowpane suit.

Kelly "Featherweight" Capozzi
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