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He gasped when the...thing attacked him. This wasn't just any woman. She had power. And guts. He grunted as the wind was driven from his lungs and he found himself pinned to the wall for a moment.

He stumbled when she released him, and grabbed a stool for balance. "What was that for?" he demanded, straightening his cloak and fumbling for the sword hilt knocked slightly askew. The blue jewel on the pommel glinted in the light before he let his cloak fall over it once more.

"I'm Arien. What's a car?" Spy he knew all too well.

The Man in Gold had come here to get drunk, not witness a fight; that sort of thing might be more suitable to Jack, being the crude ruffian that he was, but he wasn't having any of it. He heaved a groan and turned to the two.

"If you're going to kill each other, could you take it away from me? It's a real pain cleaning blood off my armor, and I just cleaned the bloodstains off of it last week."

CD shifted back to her car form and pointed two machine guns at Arien fron her headlights. ''A car is a machine that usuall drives people around. I, however, differ in that I drive myself. If you think a puny sword can hurt me, think again. I won't quarell as long as you apologize!''

Arien had no idea what he was up against. "Ha! Your blades are a bit dull to be using in a fight." He drew his sword, dashed over the hood and stabbed a tire.

"Duck," he called to the stranger. "Unless you want more than blood to stain you." Never mind that his meal was growing cold or that his vial of toxic red liquid remained sitting next to said meal.

He sighed, finished his drink, and pulled on his helmet. After fastening it in place, he was prepared for whatever fracas happened in the bar, although he would have preferred a quiet evening. If things got too bad, he was prepared to bash a few heads to keep order; although the wait staff seemed completely unaffected by what was going on. They'd probably gotten used to the battles that must break out in here all the time. Someone brought him a fresh drink, but he was too busy watching the battle with crossed arms.

CD shifted to her human form to show the sword in her leg. She twitched...Then prontly picked Arien up, and gently tossed him into a large bucket of dishwasher. ''Don't make me shoot you. I really hate fighting those I was made to aid.'' She sneered, leaking oil from whedre the sword had cut.

He soared through the air...and looked down in time to see himself aiming for a very laaaaarge bucket of water. He closed his eyes and reappeared just over The Man in Gold--falling on him instead of landing in the dishwater. Thank goodness, he hated getting wet.

"Sorry," Arien muttered, as TMIG broke his fall.

Arien hit the Man in Gold like a hacky sack hitting Hoover Dam. The armored man didn't so much as budge when Arien hit him, and the human slid down off of the Man in Gold's armor to the floor. The Man in Gold was not amused.

"I asked you to kill each other in another part of the bar. Now, I'll have to intervene," he grumbled as he drew out his sword.

It had a curved blade which was two feet long and gleamed with a dull, grey shine, and it sported its fair share of nicks, scratches, and age. The Man in Gold stepped over Arien and approached the woman leaking oil onto the bar floor. To demonstrate that he wasn't joking around, he flipped the sword around so that he was holding it by the blade, much like a spear, and chucked it across the bar into the jukebox. The sword punctured the metal housing of the machine like it was paper and sunk itself to the golden hilt. Its owner raised his hand, clenched his fingers a little, and the sword flew in a reverse arc back to him; he then held the sword again normally.

"Last warning: stop."

CD mumbled, changing back to her car form. But with two flat tires she just limply rolled to a parking spot close by, still leaking oil. ''I don't want to fight, but fools don't get the hint that I'm more than a car.'' She hissed, the platform raising until she was even with the bar, oil starting to spew everywhere.

Arien picked himself up off the floor, regarding the stranger with no small amount of awe. "Who are you? And can you do that again?" He looked in the direction of the pierced jukebox. His own sword would have dented, but this guy's sword seemed made of sterner stuff.

He looked at the woman, who appeared to have calmed down, and then back at Arien before sighing and shaking his head.

"No, I shouldn't have done that, now my arm's going to hurt like a mother-"he cut off and shrugged. "It doesn't matter, anyway. Now I can get back to my drink in peace. Save the questions like 'who are you' for a little while; I've got a fairly good buzz going on and if I can get a few more drinks in me without getting into any more fights, I might even answer some of them."

Without further ado, he sheathed the sword, resumed his seat at the bar, and removed his helmet again.

CD grumbled, still leaking oil. Her systems were starting to rattle, metal on metal from the lack of oil.

Arien sighed and returned to his seat. He promptly uncapped the vial of the toxic red liquid and dumped it liberally on his food. A hot peppery smell arose from the plate, as Arien began to eat.All that work from setting the trap to getting in a fight had made him hungry.

The Man in Gold made no comment on Arien's meal, however it was clear that he was partial to his drinks rather than the food. He also took no further notice of the car-woman, preferring instead to run his armored fingers across the surface of his helmet sitting on the bar. The liquor already in him was making him talkative, and much more of the stuff would make him nostalgic.

"There was a time when I could have gone from wearing just a pair of trousers and put this whole suit of armor on, lock everything into place, and have my sword ready for battle in under a minute and a half. These days, it takes that long just to get the helmet off," he mused as he took another drink.

CD gruffs. ''I was just a car until humans decided my core had to be tinkered with.'' She hissed, ignoring the metal sounds coming from within.

Arien scarfed down his food before overhearing what the other man had to say. "A whole suit of armor? Why do you wear such things? Are you--were you a soldier?"

He took another drink from his mug of ale, glancing at TMIG. "For that matter, I don't even know your name..."

The Man in Gold turned to Arien with a suspicious look in his good eye. Then he grunted and turned back to the helmet.

"I was a warrior-king, once. Long time ago. There was a group of us, me and some others, and we all wore matching sets of armor like the one I have," he murmured as he finished off the sixth drink of the night. "All gone now."

A pause, memories flooding back to him.

"The name's not important. It's from a culture that's been dead for 13,000 years, wouldn't mean a damn thing to you. The last person to say it to me was 3,059 years ago, six months, fourteen days, and he's the reason why the name wouldn't mean anything to you."

He took a drink off of the fresh glass that had been set in front of him.

CD grumbled once more, the oil pooled underneath her lift. ''Humans..'' She sneered, wavering.

Arien bit back a comment best not said aloud. "You're old then," he muttered. "But if you don't have a name, then no one's going to remember you...." he trailed off and then shook his head. "Surely that's not the case." He set down his empty mug of ale emphatically, leaning forward to look at the stranger. "Is it?"

He leaped off of the barstool with surprising agility for his age and degree of arthritis, but the Man in Gold could muster a little speed and a little momentum when he got his (metaphorical) fur rubbed the wrong way. He stuck an armored finger in the woman's face.

"I am not a human, and don't you ever, ever group me in with them again," he growled.

Without waiting for a response, he went back to his seat and shot a look at Arien again. He snorted, his equivalent for a laugh at something humorous.

"I'd prefer to be forgotten, thanks. My reputation isn't one that helps out when it proceeds me. People have called me all sorts of things; old man, old king, scourge king, the man in gold, the last man, whatever you want. I don't much care what you call me."