1072/The Godsend Bar, Happy Hour

The Godsend Bar, Happy Hour
Date of Scene:	21 June 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Ares, Lady Blackhawk, Deadwatch

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Ares has posed:
    The wildest days at the Godsend bar are always the week nights. Weekends are for the tourists, for the kids with their cars paid for with dad's money and spending it in the run down place just to get some sort of hint at living dangerously. But the real rough part of the bar tends to come to the fore on the weekdays when various checks are cashed and the shifts are over. The bouncers on duty take a more hand's off approach and tend to let things go until someone's lip is split or there's some steel skinned.
    Tonight's no different as the place is jumping with each area overtaken by a group of regulars. The pool table, the dance floor, the music vid machine, and the bar are all busy with standing room only for a good chunk of places. Occasionally a table opens up and when it does a few people move towards it. The race isn't always to the swift, however, it's often to the biggest... or the angriest looking.
    Curiously enough, with how things have worked out, John Aaron finds himself at a table that's mostly been empty. Sure there were a few people who stopped by, an older woman with a desperation in her eyes tried to make some form of conversation but it didn't go well. Then there was one of the bouncers that stopped by and seemed to be making a case about something. But after a bit he left too.
    So right now, amongst the chaos, the only table that's empty save for the one man at it is John Aaron's, and for now he seems inclined to keep it that way with his bottle of whiskey, his glass, and the three empties that are there marking his time passed.

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    This isn't the kind of joint a pretty young thing in a a short skirt, not alone anyway. Unless of course, You're some kind of badass. She slips through the crowd, up to the bar to snag herself an old fashioned. Taking care to remind the bartend she expects a Bourbon instead of a malt this time, before she slips away. She drifts for a spell, trying to decide if she's going to actually hang around or just make this the first of many stops for tonight. Zinda does of course, tend to take her drinking rather seriously.
    
    "Well howdy soldier, ain't you a peach keepin a table free for me?"Her tone is airy, light and for the moment unfortunately sober. Cigarette dangling from her lips, filter already marred with the ruddy press of that lipstick. She lifts those aviators out of her eyes, stashing them casually in her jacket before well. She doesn't wait for John's approval, she's come to expect it in a place like this. She hooks a chair with her heel, and slumps down. "I presume I ain't intruding?"Lifting her glass towards John in an invitation for toast?

Deadwatch has posed:
Huey Lewis once sang 'New York, New York, What a helluvatown and no place that I'd rather be.'. Well Huey Lewis was a fucking retard if he thought that because Nolan hates the fucking Big Apple. He'd rather be back in Gotham with it's insane guys in with bat fetishes in rights swinging around town with underage boys while fighting guys in insane clown posse makeup than dealing with this asshole. Of course, he may be biased since it was in New York, not far from here in the bronx actually, that a much younger Nolan got caught up in a gang fight and ended up spending 13 or more years in Rykers Island Prison

Nah, He's not Bitter at All.

But of course money talked and he's been on the case of finding the runaway daughter of a some rich Gotham asshole.. he struck out in Greenwich, though ended up corssing paths with a pair of magical teenagers.. Ugh.. what is it with teenagers and fucking magical items beyond their fucking ken. Christ.

So yeah, he's still on New York and considering he isn't a rich sunovabitch he was staying in some flop hotel in the Bronx, because some friends told him that there was a chnace the girl was somewhere there. But those same friends, and their friends, weren't much more help then that and Nolan needs a freakin break. So he did what any relatively broke unliscenced private dick would do.. look for the the bar that the tourists are AVOIDING.. Because thats how detectiving (yes thats a word) works!

Though....

The lanky redhead with the leg-brace and fore-arm crutch limps into the bar, his mismatched eyes taking in the etsablishment it all it's... well he wouldn't call it glory but.. "Damn.. Just what I fucking needed!" he says, and he grins suddenly.. in away that says he doesn't do so often.. He then cants his head to the side, staring at the empty place next to him as if someone was there, talking... and rolls is eyes. "Oh please... It was /your/ friend who recomended the place.. What could POSSIBLY go wrong?!?" he asks and then starts to limp through the crowd.. which to him is DOUBLY dense since there are a pretty godo number of ghosts and spirits here... More than average, actually. Some seem to actually haunt the place, probably having died here and not realizing they died, while others seem to be walk-ins.. And a few are hangers-on.. As a one, though, the lost sould and spirits seem to notice NOlan more than any of the livng patrons do, and start to make theri way to him because 'They Know' he can see them.. hear them..

Nolan stops. "Oh no.. No you don't!" he says, aloud to the unseen ghosts though he doubts anyone else can hear him because, you know, rowdy bar. "I'm here to get a fucking drink so unless yer wiling to pay for it? Screw off and take a number with my assistant." eh says, motioning to the empty spot beside him. "Yeah.. I called you my assistant.. grow a pair." and with that he makes or the bar in his determined, if crippled, fashion. Pushing by guys twice his size and much more hale than him as if he doesn't care.

Ares has posed:
    Among that swirl of chaos, the crowd at least tries to part a bit for Nolan. Sure it's a rough crowd, and sure there's an even chance some of them might choose to roll the cripple for this wad but that'll be after people get their drank on. Right now they still have enough of a nod given to the social contract to give room to the guy that one of the folks in the crowd calls, 'hnh, cripple.' But other than that he's able to make his way towards the bar.
    The Godsend though, it's had a decent history. Been around since before the second World War though before that it was a textile company that employed a bunch of fresh off the boat immigrants and worked a good chunk of them to death so that might not be entirely a positive to those who can consider the spectral comings and goings.
    Meanwhile, some distance away across that room at the mostly empty table, Zinda Blake makes her approach without the benefit of lights nor a tower, swirling in to land at that chair and finds a welcome place. "Sure, sit your ass down." John's words offered to Zinda are laconic in delivery, though the clink of his glass to hers is strong enough for the sound to carry. "Any occasion or just here to hassle the poor common working man who is busting his ass spackling up your privy."

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    "It's a generator room, you asshole."Zinda corrects, before hitting her old fashioned and putting the thing away like water. "I was in town picking up some stuff, I got a dude out here who does my kevlar work."Because, what did you think she wore under that tunic of hers? She slows to polish off that cigarette, before chaining up another. "Had my first firefight since I've been back, down south. Was fairly gnarly, Elliot kept it together. I wouldn't have given her shit if she'd gotten wound up, sheltered kid and all. Wouldn't be a terrible thing if we picked up another shooter though, you know to keep us delicate flowers protected and sheltered?"

    For a woman born in the 1920s, Zinda looks young beyond her years because she is. However she's not just a random broad pulled out of her time, this is Zinda Blake kiddos. The Lady Blackhawk, deadliest fighter ace alive. You don't pulp that many people with fifties and twenties, and not make some kind of dent on the other side of things. Nevermind the gunfights, and the occasional third world bar brawl that went south. Not that she seems terribly bothered, she just pours another drink.
    "I ain't twistin your arm'ere you know, just want you to know the work is there if you want it. I know I ain't the only one in this joint who misses the fighting, am I right?"And so she goes, trying to recruit the god of war himself.

Deadwatch has posed:
"..that might not be entirely a positive to those who can consider the spectral comings and goings..." is a polite way of saying that said ghosts, or teh spirits spawned by the abstract emotions and beliefs of generations of melting pot residents, can be a surly lot. Which.. doesn't bother Nolan in the slightest. Because even if he's in his early 30's, he can be a surly sunovabitch as well and he has no problem staring down a few maudlin ghosts withthose strangely mismatched eyes.. one a warm almost molten amber with gold flecks and the other a cold icy cerulean blue with silver speckles... which in The Dark, that half world the ghosts live in, also have an anti-glow, which makes them part much faster than the real live patrons who cannot see then.

Satisfied, Nolan nods and bellies up to the bar, of course taking a moment to appreciate the woman in the short dress who passes him going towards the table that a certain incognito god is sitting at.. Whom Nolan hasn't oticed yet because despite his abilities, he place is FULL of people and their auras and, of course, spirits.. "Damn.." he says as she walks away, shaking his head and then he waves down the bartender. "Three shots of bourbon, and don't gimme any of your expensive crap. I pretend to work for a living after all." he calls out, dropping a few crumpled bills on the bar. "And a pint of whataver piss isn't cut with embalming fluid. I have refined tastes!" A look to the empty spot next to him. "Well, I do!" he says indignantly..

His three shots come pretty quick, which is a good mark in the bars favour and he is about to take onwe when someone knocks him from behind and he spills the shot.

Fuck! What the hell?!?" he excliams and whirls on the sturrup of his legbrace.. and comes face to chest with a big fat tattooed guy who grins down at him. "I guess the cripple can't hold onto his booze.." the guy taunts, laughing..

Nolan frowns and wipes vodka off his coat. "Well I could if fat braindead jerk offs like you could walks a straight fucking line. I mean,You're right.. I'm a cripple, but whats YOUR fucking excuse? Hard to walk when you have your girlfriends latest sex toy stuck up your ass and you gotta clench as you walk to keep it in? Oh.. Wait.. Did I say that out loud?"

Yes.. He said that.

Ares has posed:
    "Yeah yeah, keep your dick in your hand, I got ya." The bartender growls at Nolan even as he's handling two other orders while he squints sidelong at the spectrally sensitive fellow. But, to his credit, it doesn't take long before the guy fills the order with a certain aplomb, the three shot glasses have liquor gurgled into them and then provides him with his least pissy brew. But he's already turned back by the time one of the locals bumps into Nolan.
    "Yeah..." John's answer to Zinda in all the hub bub from the bar and the crowd is a sort of wary affirmative, but then he holds a hand out towards her and says simply. "I gotta keep myself more localized, can't go galavanting all over the globe chasing my glory days." He tilts his glass back and downs a few swallows of his drink, then sets it down on the bar with a clink. He turns the bottle on its side to refill his glass and then eyes her askance.
    "So, you remember that gal we met when we were here last time?" He asks as he looks at her...
    But then his attention is grabbed by the large fella who is staring down the guy with the leg brace. it doesn't take long for him to recognize the fat guys contemporaries starting to get up as well. So John, instead of continuing his thought gestures to Zinda and then waves towards the brewing kerfluffle.

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    "Grace I think?"Zinda snags that bottle to refill the glasses present, because well it's Zinda. Only when the point is dropped, does she lift her gaze towards John. Then slowly, she peers over her shoulder to follow his gaze. "Oh fuck me, really? Can't these cockholsters wait until I've got a few drinks in me?"She inhales deeply, easing back from the bar to give her shoulders a roll. "You think I should go pick a fight, or what you wanna wait?"

    Not that Zinda's exactly waiting, one hand dropping to grope at her jacket pocket. Neatly slamming that straightwall without so much as a wince, no sense taking it easy. She starts to rise, but well she pours another just for good measure. "hmmmf, alright just watch my six alright you filthy fucking grunt?"

Deadwatch has posed:
Braindead Jerkoff blinks at the much smaller, much thinner, man.. his friends around him having gone silent and stepping back. "What did you say?" he asks.

"Nolan picks up the second shot of BOURBON.. not vodka, BOURBON.. and slugs it down. He makes a pained face. "Oh god, that's nasty.." he hisses with satisfaction, then slams it rimside down on the bar. he doesn't notice Ares or Zinda yet, because he's staring back at fatso. "Sorry.. anyways.. You heard me. I mean, it's possible yer deaf and all but that doesn't seem likely." he picks up the third shotglass.. shoots it down.. slam. "Geezus, they just don't get any better, do they?"

The big guy clenchs his fists at his side, knuckles creaking, but Nolan is on a role. "You know.. Theres a lot fo things I could say to a fat fuck like you. Things about how yoru parents probably neve rloved you.. about how that guy you secretly liked in highscool, before youd ropped out that is, wouldn't have liked you even if you were'nt a closet homosexual..which is TOTALLY fine, I guess, but it's the twenty first fucking century.. Wave that flag proudly, already. What else could i say.. wait. nope.. Got nothin else.." he frowns, canting his head as if listening to words no one else can hear.
f"Oh.. Thanks Misses Hollandbaker.." he says, which weirdly makes the big guy both blanche AND look angrier. "I guess teh last word I could put in.. The real question..." he picks up his beer now. "..Is why are you wearing your dead mom's panties? She's a bit grossed out by that.."

Oh yeah.. Fatso loses it and rushes Nolan with both fists high... Only to stop the end of Nolan's cane swings up and catches him in teh happy sack..he blinks at the cripple, then at teh cane.. and falls to his knees clutching his balls.

Nolan raises his pint. "Cheers.." he says, then takes a huge swig.."

His friends are NOT impressed and close in.

Ares has posed:
    "Yeah, her." The tall man says as he gets to his feet the same moment that she does. He pushes away from the table, leaving his drink and bottle there to properly lay claim and to give a hint as to his intention towards returning. "Tell you later," He then nods towards Nolan and the disgruntled bar patrons. "For now go get in over your head and expect me to bail you out like always. I'll be there."
    So it is with little fanfare that the duo make their way in Nolan's direction. The rather shorter blond spitfire of a gal, followed by the tall broad-shoulders construction worker who looks at least a tad bit calmer than the woman. Certainly as she walks she assuredly trails figures of screaming burning skulls and corpses, so many ghostly images if not manifestations clinging to her. While the man behind her would seem entirely like a moving and roving swirling black hole of madness that could cause any number of spectres to rush off in fear of what such a being would command the world of the living to do to them.
    Yet, to the living, it's just a guy and his dame.

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    "Aye, you!"Zinda's got some lungs, and that comes out louder than most would consider the little blonde capable of. She casually finishes that glass, before tossing it casually on the floor. "Yeah you, now listen here you tryhard chuckle fuck son of a bitch. You're gonna wind that pecker neck back in, or I'm gonna chew the eyes out'cher face and skullfuck you to death."and a pause, as she spits on the floor between. She offers Nolan a wink as she passes, and proceeds to step right up in there.
    That right hand of hers finally comes free of her jacket, as she works those knuckles into position. "The fuck you Nances need, too yeller to start a shit with a woman who can kick your asses?"Nobody ever accused Zinda of being a coward, obviously. Plenty of being crazy, foolhardy or downright off her rocker of course. Never cowardly though.

Deadwatch has posed:
Well, Maybe not QUITE as assuredly as they would think. Most people either of them have dipatched have crossed fully over, and it's only the few who coudln't yet or found some way not to who remain. It's a statistics thing. But still... Yeah... Damn! they both have more than their share of hangers-on trailing them.. and the spirutual residue generated by lives of violence, /special/ violence, clinging to them like cloaks of shadowy memory... It's pretty damned impresive really. Oh, and Ares? Yeah.. Thats scary, though Black hole is sort of the opposite of what Nolan sees.. It's more like a black explosion, violent and focused at the same time, riddled with veins of divinity and defined by abstract purpose.

"Huh?" Nolan says, taking another sip of his beer, looking over the tightening crowd of idiots at the pair closing in. "Well, Thats a thing, ain't it.."

He lazily leans back against the bar as Zinda gracefully parts the crowd, pulling a pack of smokes from his jacket, and grins as she lays down the law. "Okay.. I will admit. i totally did not see that. I thought big, dark, and scary back there would have waddled through and used ya gus for toothpicks.. Though I hafta say, you're much easier on the eyes than he is. I mean he's sorta pretty too, I guess, in his own way. Almost a god among men, you could say.."

See what he did there?
Nolan Voightolan pops a cigarette between his lips and cups the end with his free (and heavily scarred and tattooed) hand.. puffing a few times, then lowers his hand as he takes a deep breath.. holds it.. and lets the smoke cascade from his nostril. Yet... Did anyone actually pay attention and see if he used a lighter?

"You heard the lady, guys.. I mean, I know you were all just lookin fer some fun but I really really don't want to see you guys get hurt. I'm all for feminism and women's rights but.. It would be fucking embarrasing for the male species, you know, to watch you all get smacked down by this babe. Which we all know she could." He looks to Zinda. "No offence.. oh.. and Nances?" he asks. "Nice."

Ares has posed:
    As for John Aaron he steps up after Zinda, but is not actively making ready visibly or even seeming terribly put out. Instead he just takes up a place behind the woman and announces in a tone of voice that offers no insight into his emotional state nor urgency, "If you attempt to dishonorably strike the old woman with the brass knuckles, I will be displeased." That's it, that's all he says. Fair warning, as it were.
    Yet the ethereal havoc he wreaks by his presence is paid no nevermind to. He simply exists in that way, and has only on a few occasions spoken with spirits that had an issue with him. It never was productive and rarely ended well for them.

Lady Blackhawk has posed:
    "Aww thanks honey, I'm old fashioned I guess."Zinda shrugs towards Nolan, before shifting her gaze back to the fat guy. Theres a moment there, and well she decides he doesn't like his face. So she does the reasonable, adult thing. She punches him, and it's beautiful. I mean it's like some kind of magic trick, that right hook of hers is absolutely incredible. Even without those 'knucks, it'd be a beautiful shot. Being as she does have a weight of brass? She ploughs that fist into the fucker's chin, and you can hear the crack in the back of the joint. Hell you can hear those 'knucks ring like a bell, it's a shot for the ages.

    Thats when Zinda rushes on, grasping the fucker by his collar as he starts to slump. Delivering another, and another and another blow to the face in a rush of raw animal violence. Oh sweet jesus there is blood everywhere, and teeth bouncing across the floor as she drives that big lug against the bar to lay in a few more insurance shots before finally letting him drop. "Anyone else want a fucking piece! Eh?"Fuck him, fuck his dental plan especially.