DM Post
DM POST
Barbara stood at the bar almost tempted to pour herself a drink after the "smooth talking" the biker on the other side of the counter had been giving her for three minutes past the point of tolerance. With her posture upright, tattoo-sleeve arms crossed under her buxom bust under black Rolling Stones t-shirt, and stance in a propped up posture her eagle-eyes glared at the drunk man. He was a Sergeant-at-Arms. The patch on the right of his leather cut said so. A member of the Baphomet Bruisers as depicted by the back patch designed after the deity. This M.C. was actually known for being one of the top enforcers in the state, from gun-trafficking to mercenary work. Judging by the unimpressed look on Barbara's face, however, she wasn't convinced he was even worth responding to.
"What's the matter?! Too cute to say anything?!" He said before letting out a roaring laughter. To the left further down the bar's main counter sat three individuals; one appeared to be a large thug of a man with a similar cut and outfit to the drunkard Bruiser only from an entirely different M.C. that had more fat than muscle, but didn't lack in the latter; another with distinct native features in the face and long black hair as dark as raven feathers wearing all black from the leather jacket down to his cut up jeans and cowboy boots; and finally a girl with hair a natural blonde that was fashioned in a ponytail draped down the front of her torso; apparel consisting of a black leather jacket with some visible wear in the material and a cut up white t-shirt that did piss-poor job at covering her black lace bra, jeans and steel-toe boots. The bigger of the three looked over to Barabara, catching the glance and shook her head at him in response before putting up a few fingers to object.
Gash smirked under his frosted white and grey beard before taking another sip of his jack-and-coke. It was after that the sound of bikes could be heard pulling up just outside The Bloodbath.
NPC Post
NPC POST
Baphomet Bruisers
The VP of the Bruisers walked in through the front door leading seven other members of the gang. They laughed, shoved one another, stomped when they walked, a noisy crowd. The bald-headed VP with visibly missing teeth looked at the bar with mouth ajar like a Neanderthal. “ ‘Ey, Jasper. When I said I wanted a drink in a decent place, that didn’t mean take us to a cesspool like this place!” The men behind him laughed before lining up and taking seats at the bar, a few of them settling at a nearby table as they sat down to relax.
These guys were probably horrible at reading the room. If there weren’t eyes already on them, the ears of Gash and the two strangers were narrows towards their direction. Jasper, the member who had already been there getting shit-faced and talking up Barbara chuckles. He turns to face O’Leary. “I remember pops talking up this place. A home away from home back in the day. Full of the toughest sons of bitches this side of the states.” O’Leary crosses his arms. “All I see is a bunch of casuals. Some biker rejects and a pretty face or two not counting the girls.” O’Leary said with an unimpressed look.
NPC Post
NPC POST
Gash exhales loudly into a sigh. Fed up with the bad company. “Wanna run that by me again? Either you’re a few teeth short of taking some sense or your damn eyes ain’t working right.” Gash got up with ease and towered over both the VP and Sergeant, standing at close to seven feet.
The native being John Wolf, an enforcer of sorts and known security detail for mercenaries, the female Jolene Remington, notorious mercenary in the area and stateside, take their shot glasses in hand. They both let out a collective sigh before downing the shots in perfect synchronization swiftly. They take the empty glasses and tap them on the counter’s surface twice before standing up with Gash.
John stood at about six and a half feet, while Jolene was just under six feet. They got the looks and stares of the bikers. The other patrons look away and go about their drinks and food. A gentleman with a heavy looking full mustache that curled at the ends like an old-timey dandy walked out of the bathroom zipping up his pants. As soon as he saw Gash standing along the others, he mutters, “Ah hell.” Before returning back into the bathroom. Gash wrinkled his red button nose about and sniffled, “I asked if ya wanna run that by me again.” He says in a calmer yet angrier tone.
Cyl
Cyl
Looking down over the lower floor from his second story balcony, he let out a soft chuckle at what was happening. His voice was just loud enough to be heard, though it was clear he was speaking to himself. "Intriguing. Drinks and a show. That doesn't happen very often." Pointing his keyfob through a window outside, he made sure to lock his challenger and turn the alarm on, just in case. This time he finally spoke up. "If you lot do end up outside, take care around the car. You won't hurt it, even with bullets, but you may break something if you hit it. And I don't mean the car." He smirked softly, his cane beside him, as he took a sip of his scotch, the glass making a soft tink as the whiskey rocks within it rearranged themselves. Sighing softly with a smile, he noticed a few of the regulars as well, and couldn't help but chuckle softly as they stood too. "This should be fun to watch. Just try not to send anything up this way. Wouldn't want a student's report to get damaged."
DM POST
Barbara stood at the bar almost tempted to pour herself a drink after the "smooth talking" the biker on the other side of the counter had been giving her for three minutes past the point of tolerance. With her posture upright, tattoo-sleeve arms crossed under her buxom bust under black Rolling Stones t-shirt, and stance in a propped up posture her eagle-eyes glared at the drunk man. He was a Sergeant-at-Arms. The patch on the right of his leather cut said so. A member of the Baphomet Bruisers as depicted by the back patch designed after the deity. This M.C. was actually known for being one of the top enforcers in the state, from gun-trafficking to mercenary work. Judging by the unimpressed look on Barbara's face, however, she wasn't convinced he was even worth responding to.
"What's the matter?! Too cute to say anything?!" He said before letting out a roaring laughter. To the left further down the bar's main counter sat three individuals; one appeared to be a large thug of a man with a similar cut and outfit to the drunkard Bruiser only from an entirely different M.C. that had more fat than muscle, but didn't lack in the latter; another with distinct native features in the face and long black hair as dark as raven feathers wearing all black from the leather jacket down to his cut up jeans and cowboy boots; and finally a girl with hair a natural blonde that was fashioned in a ponytail draped down the front of her torso; apparel consisting of a black leather jacket with some visible wear in the material and a cut up white t-shirt that did piss-poor job at covering her black lace bra, jeans and steel-toe boots. The bigger of the three looked over to Barabara, catching the glance and shook her head at him in response before putting up a few fingers to object.
Gash smirked under his frosted white and grey beard before taking another sip of his jack-and-coke. It was after that the sound of bikes could be heard pulling up just outside The Bloodbath.
NPC Post
NPC POST
Baphomet Bruisers
The VP of the Bruisers walked in through the front door leading seven other members of the gang. They laughed, shoved one another, stomped when they walked, a noisy crowd. The bald-headed VP with visibly missing teeth looked at the bar with mouth ajar like a Neanderthal. “ ‘Ey, Jasper. When I said I wanted a drink in a decent place, that didn’t mean take us to a cesspool like this place!” The men behind him laughed before lining up and taking seats at the bar, a few of them settling at a nearby table as they sat down to relax.
These guys were probably horrible at reading the room. If there weren’t eyes already on them, the ears of Gash and the two strangers were narrows towards their direction. Jasper, the member who had already been there getting shit-faced and talking up Barbara chuckles. He turns to face O’Leary. “I remember pops talking up this place. A home away from home back in the day. Full of the toughest sons of bitches this side of the states.” O’Leary crosses his arms. “All I see is a bunch of casuals. Some biker rejects and a pretty face or two not counting the girls.” O’Leary said with an unimpressed look.
NPC Post
NPC POST
Gash exhales loudly into a sigh. Fed up with the bad company. “Wanna run that by me again? Either you’re a few teeth short of taking some sense or your damn eyes ain’t working right.” Gash got up with ease and towered over both the VP and Sergeant, standing at close to seven feet.
The native being John Wolf, an enforcer of sorts and known security detail for mercenaries, the female Jolene Remington, notorious mercenary in the area and stateside, take their shot glasses in hand. They both let out a collective sigh before downing the shots in perfect synchronization swiftly. They take the empty glasses and tap them on the counter’s surface twice before standing up with Gash.
John stood at about six and a half feet, while Jolene was just under six feet. They got the looks and stares of the bikers. The other patrons look away and go about their drinks and food. A gentleman with a heavy looking full mustache that curled at the ends like an old-timey dandy walked out of the bathroom zipping up his pants. As soon as he saw Gash standing along the others, he mutters, “Ah hell.” Before returning back into the bathroom. Gash wrinkled his red button nose about and sniffled, “I asked if ya wanna run that by me again.” He says in a calmer yet angrier tone.
Cyl
Cyl
Looking down over the lower floor from his second story balcony, he let out a soft chuckle at what was happening. His voice was just loud enough to be heard, though it was clear he was speaking to himself. "Intriguing. Drinks and a show. That doesn't happen very often." Pointing his keyfob through a window outside, he made sure to lock his challenger and turn the alarm on, just in case. This time he finally spoke up. "If you lot do end up outside, take care around the car. You won't hurt it, even with bullets, but you may break something if you hit it. And I don't mean the car." He smirked softly, his cane beside him, as he took a sip of his scotch, the glass making a soft tink as the whiskey rocks within it rearranged themselves. Sighing softly with a smile, he noticed a few of the regulars as well, and couldn't help but chuckle softly as they stood too. "This should be fun to watch. Just try not to send anything up this way. Wouldn't want a student's report to get damaged."
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