Working off a Debt? (Open)

Creak's Tavern is likely the most popular bar on the Bellmuse seafront. A rather simple, wooden, hut style building with an interior decorated by fishing spoils, for example above the swinging double doors had been set a particularly wide shark-jaw bone, but was surprisingly cosy considering it's outside's sea-damaged state. Perhaps this was the work of a roaring dust powered fireplace, perhaps it was the simple homely feeling it imprinted upon a person upon entry? Who knew. The furnishings were all wooden crafted, chips and gouges believed to have been taken out of them more as a stylistic choice than the result of brawls, and the layout of the bar itself was rather simple. There were six high raised tables with four barstools to each, seemingly made of wood directly lifted from Finnek itself judging by it's dried blue hue, and you had the bar itself and the smaller stools surround it. The counter was a wide oak U-bend behind which were various bottles and taps for distributing drinks; from Several Rums to Bears to Vodkas to Cokes to Orange juices to Prune juices to Water to well you got the idea, there was quite the selection. The glassware was a little generic, mostly consisting of tall thin pint glasses without handles and simple shot glasses. The owner, Creak, wasn't particularly one for drinks in small quantities and has claimed before; "Selling tiny fancy drinks is too much effort for too little booze, you get a pint and you'll pay for it. Fancy or not."

But alas, Creak would not today for he was not the one behind the bar. Rather that "honour" fell upon Pluton Chronus, resident homeless wannabe-hunter. Following an attempt to steal that very shark-jaw which hung above the doorway Pluton had been reprimanded by the tough tavern owner, after a brawl of sorts, and forced to pay for his crimes. Unfortunately, being homeless, Pluton didn't have much to pay with and so rather than being taken to the police and sent to jail Creak had opted to instead stick him with hard unpaid labour; manning the bar beneath the Tavern in order to gain himself a summer holiday. This was of course entirely on the crux of Pluton's claim that he had run bars across Remnant... which he had in actuality not. But how hard could it be? And he'd gotten a room in the Tavern, a shower to! Things were finally looking up! Soon he'd take on the Academy and demand his place!

He stood behind the bar, dressed in his usual (though now washed) tracksuit and tank-top combo with sunglasses atop his head and his spray-painted chain dangling before a new piece of garb. Pluton was wearing a seafood green apron atop his usual brawling clothes. In fact, contrary to the expectation of those who had encountered him, Creak's Tavern and Bar was perhaps in the cleanest state it had been for years? The glasses were polished, the floors were mopped; even the trophies seemed to be well cleaned. All of it had to be done by Pluton Cronus, he was the only one working there after-all. As a result of all this, not to mention the embarrassment of actually having to work with the public there was a mild red and grimace to Pluton's face but that couldn't he helped, the clock had just struck five! The bar was now operational!

Atlas wasn't one to often get time off. However, the flashes to that time were getting worse and worse and he knew he couldn't do his job as well as he had to in this condition. It was five, and well, he wasn't in the greatest of shapes. Atlas was an odd sort. While most people, when they were stressed and wanted a break, would take to t-shirts and jeans, with comfortable shoes, that wasn't his style. Not in the slightest.

He sat in his car, looking out towards the tavern that he'd soon enter. He didn't often enter them, but he wasn't young anymore. At least, he didn't feel like it. He hadn't had sleep in a few days, well, not good sleep. He didn't have his glasses. Those weren't any use to him currently. Not to mention, they didn't have any use anyway.

"Well. I suppose these drinks will be to Euclid."

He looked to the door he was to open, and opened it and stepped out of his car. Each step was with a purpose, each one could seemingly be heard for miles around. Each step, heavy as could be. Partly because he was as tired as could be, and partly because he was of a somber attitude. Otherwise, he wouldn't be here. He'd be driving around in his car, catching small hoodlums, and bringing them home to momma. That was his job.

However, his job was not something he could do. That grimm incident had stirred something deep inside him. It wasn't actually the grimm. No, no. The grimm was something he could handle any day of the week, twice on friday and three times on sunday. It was the way the hostage was taken and the type of gun used. That was the problem. Small guns were often underlooked in situations like that.

He entered the tavern, and went to the bar right away.

"Man. You ever just...wanted it all to stop?"

The ride here had not been a pleasant one.  LeRoi was used to the vast expanses of sand and grass, mostly walking and occasionally riding one of the caravan's many horses.  The great flying machines at the port were completely out of the question as if man were made to fly he would of been given wings like the Taheen.  The boats were a much more sensible option albeit with the greater risk of Grimm attack from the sea.  There one could be out in the open on the deck to take in the salt air and the open sky, not crammed into a pressurized cabin like a great mechanical coffin.  No, if he were to die he would die out under the sky.  But the pitching of the boat turned his stomach to water and he was grateful to have solid earth beneath his feet.  The sand of the beach was clean and white beneath his bare feet and it reminded him of home.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bQsTrOL732c

The song LeRoi began singing as he walked the beach was slow and sweet, filling the air with his rich deep voice.  Glaive upon his shoulder he weaved along the beach in a slow simple dance to the tempo of his tune.  Needless to say the sight was a bit surprising to those on the beach.  As he made his way along the beach he greeted the people he came across in his naturally boisterous manner until he spied what he had been hoping for.  The shack may had not seemed like much, but he knew a bar when he saw one.  A drink or two would do him just fine before he made his way to the academy that he had heard so much about on his way here.

LeRoi ducked beneath the doorway to make room for his glaive, wrapping his hand around the pink ribbon and gripping the haft below the blade.  Scanning the room with a smile and a satisfied sight he let out a booming "Hello!" and sat himself down at the bar and clapped his neighbor heartily on the back.

"Pint! If it do ya fine, I say thankee!"

As the well dressed, yet completely ragged, man seemed to hobble in and sit down at the bar Pluton could only really cock a brow. This was his first customer and honestly he was as unsure of what to do as the man before him seemed to be in his life. When asked if he wanted it all to stop Pluton held the glass he was pollishing up to the light, closing his right eye and attempting to peer through it, pausing for all of a moment before spitting out; "Eh, dunno. I just kinda got this gig ya dig? Figure if I stop cleanin' these glasses I'll get thrown out, I might be able to stick around here if I do good enough. If if I look as sad as you by the end of this one I guess I'll stop?" Before opening his eye and resuming his polishing. "I mean, I guess I'll want it to stop sometime? But a job's a job ya dig?"

It was then that a man, while not taller than the first nor Pluton broad and visibly muscular, appeared to almost dance his way into the bar with joy in his step and letting out a great booming greeting. Where Pluton not over half a foot taller than this man he would have been simply impressed at the show, however as he was smaller Pluton felt the need to one-up him. He had to be the raddest centre of attention in the room, not this cool looking bloke with his tan and battle hardened appearance. Without hesitation Pluton thwacked his palms against the countertop, likely surprising at least one of his patrons, and let out a loud; "Yo Yo Yo!!! What's up?!?! Beer?! Alright!?" His dumb, dented, glasses dropping down onto his face from his forehead.

Taking the glass he had been polishing and turning to one of the many taps on the wall he attempted to fill it, only for two thirds of the glass to be suds. Setting that glass aside he did try again to slightly better avail, only one fifth being suds. Thinking that good enough he turned to put it down but stoped midway; "Uhhhhh... Am I supposed to ask for ID or somethin'? I ain't got a clue..."

"Legally, yes."

The hawk, bless his heart, was down on his luck because of memories. Thereby, how better to erase his memories, than to drink it away.

"Give me some rum."

He took out his scroll and showed identification, which showed him as his age. He was over 30, so he was fairly sure he could drink. He oculd drink anything there, if not simply because he was old. He was old because he had been around forever. Not really forever.  Only 30 odd years. Simply put, he had been here long enough to drink anything on that back wall and some.

"I wish I were back at my old job."

He wasn't going to specify, well, he wasn't really supposed to do so. He was supposed to keep things secret, which he did for the most part. Only talking about it when it was needed. That was how things were.[/color][/color]

"LeRoi Rousse. Though I don't know why I need to tell you who I am to get a drink." With a bark of a laugh LeRoi reached into a pouch at his belt and pulled out a rather ill-used scroll and some bits of physical currency and threw them on the bar toward the bartender. "My identification should be on that thing." LeRoi states pointing a finger at the scroll, "damned if I can figure out how the thing works."

Clapping his neighbor on the back heartily, strong enough to make his teeth rattle, LeRoi roared with amusement, "What's the matter Sai? This ain't no place for moping about, you're alive and that never lasts for too long," giving the man a strong jostle about the shoulders. "I'm paying for Sour-Puss here." addressing the bartender, "after all, time is short and there are other worlds than these."

Taking the offered beer, LeRoi lifted his glass to the ski and shouted a salute. Tipping his glass back the amber liquid disappeared down his gullet in one grand swig.

Hearing the answer and having various pieces of identification thrown toward him Pluton did fumble for a moment. Squinting first at the one shown to him, Atlas Geoff Liandry... what kind of a name was Geoff? What kind of a name was Liandry? Cocking a brow Pluton looked up at him; "Would I be right in assumin'... just... with the name Atlas... are ya from there or? I remember getting barred from the academy then... it's just, cause like, if you're not from Atlas that's real weird. Like... weirder than your other two names even and that's pretty darn difficult. Not even a colour... unless... is Geoff a colour?"

Losing himself to thought briefly he picked up the other man's scroll, powering it up and fiddling with it until he found his identification page. He was sure he had misheard what he had said but... oh geez... these guys... did neither of them have normal sounding names? How was that even possible? Was that... two capital letters in one name? How did that work? How was that supposed to work? Were they separate names that got stuck together by mistake? "Geez, is Le...LeRoi? Is that a colour to? I'm strugglin' to wrap my haed around this... why can't ya be simple like mine? Pluton Cronus. Rolls of the tong, got a colour in it with plutonium... I think it's grey? It's probably grey. Anyway, here ya go I guess?" Pluton passed him the drink.

Turning, Pluton would next do what was perhaps the unimaginable. Unsure of what to do with rum, and only having bigger glasses... Pluton proceeded to empty most of a bottle of rum into a pint glass and simply hand it to Atlas. Not mixed with water, not mixed with coke or lemonade... just a pint of straight rum. "Uhhh... do I get you to pay now or...hmm."

He disappeared under the desk, finding a list of prices. Most seemed about right, only around four hundred lien to seven hundred per drink. He sat it down on the bar before himself.

Atlas looked at Pluton fumbling with his scroll. Pluton then asked a stupid question.

"Yes. My mother was one of the people who thought naming me after the place I was born was smart and unique."

Atlas, admittedly, had an ok level of resistance in his body to getting drunk. However, when it came down to it, Rum was Rum. A pint of rum, even more so. There were certain challenges that one, as a special officer of the military, had to go through. One that he had to do was drunken training, so that he was able to combat somewhat effectively even while plastered. It was important, in the long run, that he accumulated all the skills he could in the shortest amount of time.

"Honestly. It's a name."

When the bartender poured the pint of rum, according to him, he should tell the bartender that he should mix it.

However, Atlas was sad and wanted to be drunk.

So, in all his wisdom, he took the rum. He took the rum, and downed it all. Sure, it tasted like garbage. Sure, he probably shouldn't have done what he did. He was feeling it, and the usually composed man got up, and looked at LeRoi. He slapped the other man on the back.

"You may be right. Why am I moping? I am the great, Atlas Geoff Liandry!"

He was buzzed, at least. Might even be drunk.

"At's the spirit Sour-Puss!  Ain't nothing worse than seeing a grown man millin' about when there are perfectly good Grimm ta kill."  LeRoi cheered to Atlas with a knowing grin on his face.  A pint of hard liquor shotgunned down the hatch like that was bound to put someone under the table in no time regardless of tolerance.

Oh that's gonna be a fun time for him in the morning

And as for the bartender whether he was actually incompetent or just feigning it, "My name comes from a different language Sai.  It means 'The Crimson King' if you're wondering, and it is not polite to mock someones name.  Names have power, more that they give you power over something when you know its true name, and to speak something's true name is to have utter mastery over it.  Fire, stone, wind, these are just speaking names, names we mortals have given to the world around us to help us understand our place in it, and it has no more power than shouting Beowulf to a charging Grimm.  But to speak something's true name you understand it to it's very core, you are no longer attributing meaning to something but something to a meaning, able to command, control, and reshape it's very existence."

LeRoi's face was far away for a moment as he spoke think of his time among the sands with his teachers and friends, calm and serene compared to the boisterous nature he usually showed.

"Ah but you don't want a lecture, though I'm certainly going for a few.  I need to get up to the academy and get settled."

Pluton kinda lost the LeRoi guy after he started talking about Earth, Wind and Fire. Names to Pluton were just named, had this guy never been called by a nickname before? With hair like that he was destined for like... "Ginger" or "Reddy" or somethin', was it really so strange that Pluton had been called Tartar after the sauce? Would this dude take offence to bein' called Gingey? Pluton had been all over the continents and he found that a little strange. Regardless at the man's mention of the school and lectures Pluton felt the need to puff his chest out a little, almost flexing his arms as they hung at his side; attempting to make himself look larger physically than he already was.

"Pffft, they let another weak kid in over me? Lemme guess, another one with that dumb power thing. Aura or Chi or Soul or semblance or whatever you wanna call it. What a joke what a joke, can't get by on your physical merits eh? 'Fraid to face Grimm skin to skin eh? Need some kinda barrier or I dunno... that girl could make some dumb cube, I thought it was rad at first but... it just sucks. What use is makin' cubes and barriers? Ya should be facing things head on with your might, this aura stuff just make's ya'll seem weak. Not to mention it's keepin' me out the academy... well that and lack of qualifications, references and money but still! Seems they'll let just 'bout anyone in with that dumb aura stuff. Seems like cheatin' to me."

It was with that Pluton would untie his apron and let it fall to the ground, understanding that it likely... degraded his macho facade he was attempting to put up. He then proceeded to attempt to crack his neck... to no avail so he kept going to make it look like he was stretching. "Besides, only weak runts need others help to get this strong. Academy, pshhh, gimme a break." All the while, due to this fire in his eyes and heart, he was much to distracted to notice the now much drunker Atlas.

Atlas WAS a chill fellow. Well, Sober Atlas. Pluton was being a god darn rude dude. This LeRoi guy wasn't half bad. Sure, he was drunk and that might be throwing his judgement off, but still. LeRoi seemed like a nice feller. He was right. Names were important, but he wasn't going to say anything until Pluton opened up his untrained, stupid mouth.

"I get it. You were probably banished from academies or otherwise rejected, so you harbor a hatred of them. You hate other people who have what you want."

Atlas fell backwards, laughing, before getting back up.

"Tell me. How many grimm have you faced down, mano a mano. Just fighting them. I've faced more grimm and man alike than both of you probably have. It's all thanks to Euclid, that smart woman."

He wasn't going to try to say that he was super smart, but he was angry. To make a point,he turned on his semblance.

He walked over to the door to the bar from barfront. He then smashed his hand down. He only wanted to make a thud. However, he made more than a thud. He would've, likely, broken right through the thing and going down with his fist, he would just lay there. Sighing.


Aura: 140/150

Rather than rise to Pluton’s taunts, LeRoi just continued to sit at the bar, with a small amused smile on his face as if Pluton’s antics were like watching a child walk around in their father’s shoes.  After a moment as LeRoi thought, the expression changed from amusement to something far more damaging to Pluton than the fight that he was trying to pick.

Pity.

“Are you saying you cannot use the manifestation of your own soul?”  LeRoi asked before Atlas had his outburst.  After the outburst, LeRoi slapped his palms on the bar and stood up.

“None of that now Sour-Puss,” LeRoi states to Atlas as he moved around the bar to place a meaty limb around Pluton’s shoulders practically crushing him in a side arm hug.  “It’s a damned shame no one taught you to unleash your potential Boy-oh.  God as my witness I will see you in that academy and crushing Grimm the proper way!  I hate to see a resource being wasted in this war, and you Boy-oh smell like potential to me.  C’mon and close up, daylights wasting and there are things to kill!”

Turning to the man, who in his eyes had simply very much enjoyed his drink, "Not just some academies, all of em! I've been in and out of all the big four over a number of years, I've fought folk from Atlas and Mistral, got thrown away from Syne most recently. Ended up here almost on a fluke, cost a lot of money to get the boat out here only ta end up homeless again. I've taken on a couple grimm before, most recently one of those pig 'uns. Got some pretty rad looking scars from it!" As Pluton went to lift his shirt the arm of the very man he had been mocking would reach over and grab him. Naturally and immediately put off by this he would frown and attempt to shrug him off, it was at this he could realise were he smart enough, despite seemingly not having aura... while squishier than him, Pluton seemed to match him in strength. This untrained, never been to school nor had his aura unlocked, homeless man was somehow matching him in power.

Continuing to frown at the man Pluton responded to his boasts; "I just got a job and a place to sleep and ya want me to throw it all away immediately? Are ya daft? I've been working for like... fifteen minutes tops? And you're wanting to try to indoctrinate me into this weird... aura religion? What's gonna happen? Gonna like... meditate under waterfalls until we attain inner peace or some other dumb garbage? The idea that psychic powers or some other rubbish comes from just like... thinking the right way is trash, it's garbage. I don't need to deal with that rubbish, I just need to punch stuff and learn to use my weapon better." It's with that Pluton would reach beneath the bar and pull up what looked to be a large, hard plastic, box with straps attached to make it a very uncomfortable looking bag. Opening the box Pluton would draw forth one sixth of his weapon. It looked almost like a metal record disk but with no hole in it's centre nor indents to play it thorough, circling the blade were equilateral triangular spikes of around three centimetres each. The weapon was a dirty silver colour, looking heavy and poorly made. If one were to look into the box there were five more of these blades exactly the same.

"Think about it this way, Pluton. My aura allows me to outpower most, if not all, people. It literally strengthens me. You wanna be strong to punch real hard? That's how you do it. I've got explosive power. Not literally, but no wall could stand before me for long." The hawk would then flip to the side.

"You have a gift. A gift. Your physically big and strong, and what you need is not aura. Sure, aura'd be nice, but what you need is training. I could still beat you drunk and tired."

He hopped up and smiled, before stumbling back and sitting in a chair behind him.

He was confident for a reason. Beyond the fact that he was just barely grasping to his awakeness, he was doing quite alright all things considered. It could be way worse, in his mind. He could probably beat both of these goons. He still had his training. Sure, it was locked in the back of his head, but it was there.

On LeRoi, he was most ignoring what the man said. The drunk hawk was focused on the drunken education of a Pluton.

"Ha!" LeRoi barked at Pluton, "Oriza plates!  Now I have seen everything to see those so far from home."  Leroi picked a plate out from its holster, gripping it between his index and middle finger.  "Watch this," with a lazy flick of his wrist, the weapon flew across the room to embed into the far wall.  "That's how you use these weapons."

Seemingly immune to the taunts, LeRoi simply continued with his wide smile and infectious cheer.  "An no, it ain't some mystical mumbo-jumbo that we'd do to unlock your aura.  I'd just put you in a life or death situation an see what happens."

"That is of course if you got the stones for it.  Or you gonna run away from this too, an whine how its all someone else's fault an not yer own."  With that LeRoi picked up his weapon an moved to the door.  "A coward judges all he sees by what he is."

"Long days and pleasant nights."

Pluton couldn't help but frown deeper as the very drunk man went on, talking about how he could beat him right here and right now... all the while looking to struggle holding himself upright. All the while the other guy, this LeRoi, was going on and on about how he knew about his weapon and seemed to know more about unlocking this aura? But if it was as simple as beating things up or getting beaten up Pluton was sure he would have unlocked it by now. It seemed like almost every person he encountered had a different idea about this "Aura" and how it worked, as well as whatever the heck a "Semblance" was. As the man threw the disk, picked up his own weapon and started to make his way toward the door Pluton had to call out.

"You haven't paid or nothin', ya even said you'd pay for this guy's drink, and you've like... just put a big dent in that door? If ya think I'm paying for that you're not." Walking around the bar and going to retrieve his disk. "Is that like... some way to get out of it? Say you'll pay for someone else's drink then duck out, make the bartender think you're gonna be upfront when ya ain't?" He managed to pretty easily pull his disk from the door, cleaving what wasn't a huge gash in the door but certainly a visible mark. It hadn't created a porthole or anything, just a crack or indent like you'd see on an old wall.

"I like... have no idea what to charge for that? Never owned a tavern let alone a door?"

He stared at Pluton. Albeit, he had a rough idea of how to get up, he was feeling a little tired. By a little bit, he meant a lotabit. He was very tired. It was suddenly hitting him quite hard. He wasn't actually paying attention to Pluton and when he moved, Atlas didn't move. Atlas in fact, moved backwards in his seat and closed his eyes. It was the first time he actually felt tired in awhile.

"I'll pay if he doesn't when I awake"

Atlas went limp in his chair and went on to dream about nothing. That was the best. He'd rather dream about nothing rather then dream about everything. He was drunk, he was tired, so he went to sleep. He'd care about this man and his lack of education later. He needed a nap first, to accomplish what he came here for. To forget and have a nice nap.