Brian Campo (briancampo) wrote in birthrightrpg, @ 2021-02-02 16:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | brian campo, marsh grey, tasha sloan |
The Effing Tourists
Who: Brian, Marsh, Tasha, NPC Hunters
What: Some Targeted Violence
When: Night
Where: Lucky’s, Searchlight
Warnings: Language, Fighting, Blood
“Okay, it’s not tacos…” Brian handed Tasha a tray of nachos loaded with veggies and, he guessed, fruit. Because wasn’t that the deal with diced tomatoes? “But honestly,” he leaned over the bar to mumble, “Even if they were on the menu? No.” He straightened up and reached for something down the bar. “You want a shot of tequila to go with those, or just a beer until we get the real thing?” The brown-haired bartender made a show of weighing two drinking receptacles, one a shot glass, the other a pint glass.
He was feeling good, just coming off a full moon, that pleasant kind of tired that came with running hard. Brian hadn’t gotten out of the canyon unscathed this time: he had some pink scratches on one of his forearms from an unfortunate run-in with a cactus, but they were well on the way to healing. Across the room, Queen had been punched in on the Jukebox. The opening vocals of ‘Fat Bottomed Girls’ blasted from the speakers for the ten-thousandth time.
There was movement in Brian’s periphery. It was Marsh. Lately Brian had been working on a revenge project after learning that Marsh had been eavesdropping on his thoughts for ages without telling him. It involved thinking of inappropriate things whenever he noticed Marsh coming near him. He whispered to Tasha, “Quick, think of something gross. Dicks in a pickle jar.”
“Beer is fine,” Tasha replied, voice muffled through a mouthful of poker chips and cheese. She could honestly be eating cardboard and would probably be fine. Her taste buds had gotten a readjustment over the years, though she could still distinguish the slight differences between brand of gas station wieners — 7-11 being the clear winner.
At the mention of dicks in a pickle jar, though, she nearly choked. “What the fuck?” Then she spotted Marsh. The hunter conjured up a memory of fighting one demon who had open, oozing sores all over its body and tried to psychically direct it toward the bartender, though outwardly it looked like she was trying to both glare at him and solve a complex math problem at the same time.
For good reason Brian was trying to throw Marsh off his game. Clearly he didn’t understand the reason behind him listening in was for his safety and the safety for the other patrons at the bar but the imagery of pickled dicks did cause Marsh to chuckle from across the room and he brought empty glasses behind the bar to clean. “While I appreciate what you two are trying to do, I don’t get images just words.”
He liked Tasha, a camaraderie they had shared over old wounds, and he didn’t blame her for Brian’s evil plan. He eyed the plate of nachos in front of Tasha. “Those look…” appetizing wasn't the right word. “...edible.”
Brian put a cold pint glass in front of Tasha. The craft beer was something new from Sin City Brewing. “Nice try.” Brian leaned against the bar. “If you don’t get pictures,” he said, “How do you know what we’re doing?” Because he knew his whisper game was strong, and Tasha’s ears were nothing to sneer at. He stole a chip off the side of the stack. “Better than bowling alley. Better than truck stop? Mm. No.”
“Don’t most people think in images?” Tasha wondered curiously. “At least, I do. Unless I’m consciously trying to think, which sounds weird but I think you know what I mean.” She popped another chip in her mouth and washed it down with the beer, which was much better than the food. She turned to Brian. “You know what it is? The liquid cheese. It’s less...plastic-y at the truck stop. Good eatin’.”
“Don’t really know how it works, just know that I hear not see.” Marsh wasn’t a man of many words, because he was always on his guard. Working the bar tonight wasn’t any different. “And I could hear you cause you think things as you say them.” He shrugged his shoulders and leaned back, hands on the bar to extend his leg a bit. It didn’t always hurt during his shift but occasionally it would act up.
“That dinner?” He asked Tasha, eyeballing the concoction in front of her.
Brian stared at the wooden bar, eyes fixating on one of the many signatures. He was still puzzling over Marsh’s telepathy. If he heard someone say ‘dicks in a pickle jar,’ he knew he’d immediately picture it. Maybe he had some kind of compulsion. Shaking that off because he didn’t want Marsh hitching onto it, he ate a pretzel out of a nearby bowl and took a sip of his own drink. He was going with a boilermaker.
“So what if it is?” Brian turned in profile and gestured at his physique. “This is fifty percent Lucky’s. Don’t talk shit about my boy in the kitchen. He stuck with me after a flaming vampire leaped on his back right in the middle of a shift. As far as I’m concerned, this nacho platter is a culinary masterpiece.” He smiled at Marsh.
Marsh raised his arms in mock surrender. “I’ll take your word for it.” As opposed to actually eating something like it himself. He chuckled at his friend and coworker, and brushed his fingers through his hair as he righted his stance. He had a bag of tobacco that was calling his name in the truck but he wanted to smoke less so he decided against his usual fifteen minute break.
The term dicks in a pickle jar kept repeating itself in his head now and Marsh supposed he deserved the obnoxious phrase for poking into his head without permission.
The exterior door opened, then the inner one, letting in a wisp of cool, evening air. A woman in a beanie and a warm coat came into the bar, along with a couple chatting happily about some lost bet in Las Vegas. Brian looked up. “Grab a seat wherever you want.” The couple, a man in a Hard Rock shirt and a woman in tie dye, took a two-top table near the empty stage. The pink-and-black haired woman flying solo came up to the bar and pulled out a stool. Ruby was still on break, so Brian took over. “Hey,” he said, passing a coaster the woman’s way and spinning a drinks and apps menu around for her to see it. “Drink specials are on the board. Take a look, let us know what we can get started for you.” He started backing off to see whether Marsh had gotten a menu to the small table yet.
“Thanks… Brian,” she said, reading the name on his staff shirt as he moved away. She picked up the menu and flipped through the laminated pages.
Tasha glanced with mild interest at the newcomer, attention caught by her multicolored hair and the way she carried herself. She turned back to Brian, scooping up a small pile of beans and diced tomatoes and bringing it to her mouth. When she was finished chewing, she spoke up. “I’ve had worse dinners,” the hunter remarked. “Stranded in the middle of nowhere, using a knife to jimmy open a cold can of chili. My compliments to the chef.”
Tasha took a sip of beer and spun a little in her stool. “Hey, Brian. Wanna see who can pick the most obnoxious song possible on the jukebox?”
Brian came back and stuck his hand in the tip jar, digging for a few pieces of silver change at the bottom. “A thousand times yes.” He flipped a quarter at Tasha and gestured. “After you.” He reached for his glass and finished the rest of his whiskey and beer.
The customer in the beanie set her menu down. Nina spun one of the rings on her fingers, which were looser in the cold weather, and watched the bartender head for the jukebox. “Just a Bud Lite,” she told the curly-haired employee when she took over. Whatever was cheapest. While she waited, Nina took in the atmosphere of the saloon. It wasn’t the hovel she expected in a town this small, but it had a strange vibe to it.
Across the way, the couple who came in smiling hadn’t kept up the good mood. The pitch of their conversation had changed, though, a light joke about a bet escalating into what sounded like an argument before they even got their drinks. So much for the afterglow of vacation. The man scraped a chair loudly across the wood floor and stood up.
Nina watched and thought, ‘That’ll work for a distraction.’
Marsh had been quietly listening to the patrons in the bar, grabbing a few drink orders from the couple seated when he noticed her. A distraction? That wasn’t a good sign at all and Marsh couldn’t tell if they were about to get robbed or a riot was about to ensue. He quickly took the drink orders and kept his eye on the woman as he made his way to Brian.
“Hey man.” He whispered to Brian as he spoke close. “That woman over there needs some attention paid to her. She’s thinking about a distraction.” He didn’t mean to be so alarmist but recent events had put him a little on edge.
Tasha was flipping through the selections on the screen, finger hovering above ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ when Marsh came up to them with his whispered warning. She felt a prickle go up the back of her neck. In case the woman was looking or listening in their direction, the hunter let out a loud laugh and shook her head derisively. “Ew, no, we are not going to play ‘MacArthur Park’. I said the most obnoxious song. We still want customers.”
To Brian, she spoke as low and quiet as she possibly could, enough so he could still hear her. Her lips barely moved. “What do you think?”
Brian kept his eyes on the music selection and played it casual. He pressed two buttons and Lovefool by the Cardigans began playing. A second quarter went into the slot for Tasha. He glanced over his shoulder at the couple having the disagreement, keeping the woman with the pink-and-black hair in his peripheral vision. “Well, if she’s planning to rob us, she’s probably not going for the tip jar.” He stepped back and hit the top of the machine. “Beat that!” he said, louder.
His heart sped up as he headed back towards the register. He wasn’t comfortable with the three of them huddled in the corner with their backs to the room. Brian turned over the possibilities while he passed her stool: criminal? hunter? the kind of magic user who planted cursed fortune-telling machines and opened hell-portals in public bathrooms? He made it behind the counter without incident and looked her in the eye.
Nina adjusted her beanie and raised two fingers. “Can I get an order of mozzarella sticks?”
Brian nodded. “Yeah.” He chanced a look at Marsh and Tasha, then started walking towards the kitchen as Nina picked up her phone and started quickly texting.
‘Take him out now.’
Marsh heard the words as she typed. Who was she even talking about? Nervously he turned to Tasha. He spoke low and close to her so no other patrons in the bar could hear over the sound of a busy saloon. “She’s texting someone. Take him out now.” Out of anyone he knew, she seemed like a unique problem-solver. He could hear but otherwise he couldn’t offer much physically with the state of his leg.
Marsh didn’t have any knowledge about this part of Searchlight. He knew others were different and he knew there were people who came after them but not much more than that.
Tasha processed those words, brushed some hair over her shoulder and grabbed her beer from the ledge she had set it on while choosing songs. As the syrupy sweet vocals of the Cardigans filled the bar, she sauntered over to where Ms. Pink and Black was sitting. “Hey,” she said, her voice dropping a register. “The mozzarella sticks here are really good. The hunter took a pull from her pint glass and licked her lips.
“Are you from around here, or just passing through?” Tasha leaned against the table with a smile, trying to catch a peek of the other woman’s phone and seeing only the lock screen.
“Vancouver,” Nina lied into her glass. The Bud Light ran cold down her throat.
Thunk.
Just before he passed through the door to the kitchen, Brian heard a whistle and felt a searing pain at his ear. He flinched and touched the lobe. There was a thin slice of flesh missing from it and blood on his fingertips. A knife with silver inlay vibrated in the doorframe. His eyes widened and he dropped into a crouch.
Nina frowned. Across the room, the couple who’d been having an argument were no longer at their table.
It wasn’t until he saw Brian have blood coming from his ear that Marsh really started to disconnect. His eyes roamed the room at the other patrons who were beginning to notice the bartender’s condition. He could talk to someone at length about how to cope with situations similar to this but in the midst of violence he was useless. Finally he willed his foot to move toward Brian with the intentions of seeing how he was.
He heard gasps and saw Brian drop to the floor so he tried to move faster as he made his way through the crowd. He got on his knees the last leg of it and settled down next to his coworker. “You ok? What the hell was that?”
Tasha’s ears pricked up at the sound of commotion across the bar. In a split second decision, she caught Nina in the center of the face with an uppercut, lingering just long enough to watch it make contact before she scanned the room for a sign of Marsh or Brian. Her eyes fell on the empty table where the arguing couple had sat.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” the hunter muttered. “The fucking tourists?”
That hard of a punch would’ve sent a less seasoned person into naptime. Nina’s stool toppled backwards. The hunter struggled to stay upright as the piece of furniture went out from under her. She landed hard on her elbow and looked at Tasha from the floor. A fuzzy recognition hit her. ‘Hunter.’ A fellow hunter hit her. Pissed as all fuck, Nina broke a wooden leg off the stool and stabbed wildly at the other woman’s thigh.
A wave of heat and disbelief flashed over Brian. He shook his head. “Silver,” he said and pointed up. The handle of the knife was still protruding from the door frame. He needed to get off the floor and start moving. The longer he knelt there playing human dartboard, the more likely they were to get a better shot, or somebody else would get hit by accident. He started moving again, staying low. He was the problem; if he removed himself, maybe they’d leave, too. Brian felt himself wanting to shift because he could get outside faster. “I’ll go out the back door,” he told Marsh.
A row of pint glasses fell off the bar and broke, spilling beer everywhere. The tiles were slippery. Brian’s shoes squeaked as he made a break for it.
As much as Marsh wanted to stop Brian, tell him to take control of the situation, he couldn’t. Marsh looked over to Tasha, who clearly had done a lot more damage than he’d done, with a look of panic. “Back door. Help him!” He mouthed the words to her as he pointed in that direction from the floor. If only he could implant thoughts into other people's minds instead of reading them.
Sure they’d had trouble in Lucky’s before, but this felt different, this felt like Brian had a target on his head.
Tasha felt splintered wood pierce the fabric of her jeans before turning back to pink hair from Vancouver. She reached out and grabbed for the woman’s wrist and twisted in an attempt to get her to drop the makeshift stake. Glass fell from the top of the bar, beer dripping down onto them both. Behind the hunter, one half of the missing couple spotted the tussle.
The second half of the couple, the guy in the Hard Rock shirt, was coming in the back door, which an employee had propped open with a rock for the beer guy.
Barely on his feet, Brian backtracked, thinking. Leading the hunters outside wasn’t an option anymore. He’d have to fight back with his fists or shapeshift. Brian reached out. His fingers felt along the wall until he found the panel of light switches, right next to a dusty fire alarm, which he hoped still worked. Lately the inspector was more interested in doing free shots than checking things off on his clipboard.
Brian pulled it. The system squealed. He pushed a thought to Marsh as Hard Rock started running towards him. Forget the pickled dicks. ‘Get everybody out.’ The werewolf and the hunter landed in a skid on the wood floor. There were trampling feet and chairlegs everywhere. Fists flew. Another knife got into the mix and they wrestled for control of it. The tip of it pierced Brian’s shirt and cut deep into his shoulder. He clenched his teeth and tried to push back. “Motherfu—!” The confusing part was, he didn’t even think the guy was that strong, not like a normal hunter, but Brian’s skin was on fire. It felt like his ear and his shoulder were melting off. He couldn’t get enough leverage to push the hunter off. The only thing to do was knee Hard Rock in the balls. Brian used the distraction. He yanked the knife out and stuck it in the guy’s back, where he couldn’t reach.
Across the room, Nina’s wrist was bent at an unnatural angle. She got her feet underneath her and stood up awkwardly, dripping wet from somebody’s spilled IPA. It was from Hop Nuts Brewing. Bottled, not on tap. Nina grabbed the bottle and broke off the bottom. She slashed towards Tasha’s arm.
“Fuck,” Tasha hissed between her teeth, ducking out of the way of the shattered bottle. She would rather be dealing with a knife than have to pick broken pieces of glass out of her skin later with a pair of tweezers. Which reminded her. She dropped into a crouch, pulling a carbon steel folding knife that was taped to the inside of her boot.
“Well, if we’re going for sharp…” the older hunter commented, releasing the catch and letting the blade swing open. Not a second later, a bar stool smashed against her back and Tasha was knocked into a forward roll.
With all the chaos, Marsh barely registered Brian’s thought but a moment later he realized what was going on and stood to see scared patrons hiding beneath tables and crowding in corners. He began to round people up in the near vicinity, all the while mapping out a way to maneuver people around the fight Tasha was having.
“Come on now, this way everyone,” he said quietly and hoped the few that could hear would lead the others who hadn’t. He escorted a small group first, around the table where the brawl was happening. He let go of the breath he didn’t know he was holding when the first group made it out the door.
Nina made a mad dash for Tasha’s landing spot and stomped on her wrist, trying to get her to let go of the knife. She kicked at it, hoping the other hunter’s fingers were loose.
Dimly aware that he was bleeding from his sleeve down to his watch, Brian rolled away from Hard Rock and got his eyes on Tasha and the first hunter. A folding knife and a broken bottle? Very back alley 80s. He had an insane thought involving the Beat It video that he put down to shock and fumbled for a tabletop to pull himself up to his knees. Brian tipped it over on Hard Rock, who was bleeding between the shoulder blades. Christ he felt like shit. Like he had a flu.
The third hunter, the fake tourist in the tie dye Viva Las Vegas! shirt, knocked into Tasha with a stool. Shit. Brian couldn’t see Marsh, but he made a last-ditch attempt to get his employee armed, in case he passed out and left Tasha two-on-one. ‘There’s a gun in the boss’s office. Top drawer.’
Brian grimaced and drew his shirt over his head. He closed his eyes, breathed through his nose, and did what Kasey had taught him to do: He opened the cage. At first, the wolf didn’t want to come. Silver scrambled the connection. But then he felt his teeth and jaw begin to ache, his salivary glands filling, and that rolling, bone-cracking sensation traveling from his shoulders down to his hips. He was low to the ground, seeing the world in dull color. The wolf emerged from Brian’s pile of clothes and shoes and leapt onto the hunter wearing tie-dye. They rebounded off the jukebox. He had her on the floor, teeth snatching at her clothes. The wolf yelped when the hunter dug her fingers into the bloody, matted fur at the top of his front leg. He got his mouth around her forearm. She punched the side of his face. The fight kept going. He snarled and got his teeth on the crook of her neck. They were bared, wet, but not breaking the skin. The hunter groped for and found a chunk of glass on the floor, which she poked against the wolf’s belly. The pair of them froze.
Whatever happened, Tasha was determined not to lose her weapon. Even as she felt something crack. With her free hand, she grabbed Vancouver’s leg just below the calf and pulled as hard as she could, hoping she would fall backward and crack her skull just enough for lights out.
Looking over her shoulder, she aimed the tip of the knife at the tie-dyed hunter wielding the shard of glass, watching it sink into the ropey muscle of her outer thigh. Tasha tried to avoid any arteries. She was pissed about the chair to the back. It was so WWE. Her wrist throbbing in protest, she pulled the knife out as blood began to pool down the other woman’s leg.
The tie-dye clad hunter let out a howl of pain that could rival a were’s, and struck out in equal measure of anger, little grace in the movement but enough to land hard on the side of Tasha’s jaw. She tasted blood in her mouth.
Marsh had heard Brian loud and clear this time, ushering out the last of the weekend crowd and ran into the office. He quickly opened the drawer and stopped cold. The word gun hadn’t registered in his brain. So many things went through his mind, like why there was a gun in the office. Workplace violence aside, Marsh loathed guns ever since he got shot and the sight of it brought back painful memories.
He just stared, for minutes he looked at it, trying to will himself to pick it up. Finally, he grabbed it, going through the routine he did when he was a gun owner. Checking to see if the safety was on, seeing how many rounds they were working with. Nothing good could come of this.
As he tucked the gun into jeans, Marsh made his way back out to assess the situation. Pretty soon they’d be coming after him and he had to defend himself and his friends the best he could.
The wolf had two choices: Rip the hunter’s throat out or just bite her. As badly as the wolf wanted the first option, Brian didn’t want either. He pushed his way back through the fog and shifted, coming out growling, “Fuck!” in frustration. The hunter squirmed under the sudden body weight of a human man. She was in no position to mount an offense after Tasha stabbed her thigh. The piece of glass sliced into Brian’s side by accident. He smashed his head into Tie Dye’s face. Her nose exploded with blood, but she was out cold. He rolled off of her and collapsed.
“Marsh!” This time he yelled it.
Tasha swept her gaze over Brian, visually checking for any serious injury before turning her attention back to the beanie-clad hunter. She heard her friend call Marsh’s name, and concern that the bartender was hurt had her turn her head away, just for a second. It was long enough for the other woman’s foot to strike out and catch her in the face.
She fell back into a pool of broken glass and spilled beer, cursing herself for the stupid move. She should have known better. Tasha blinked through a stream of blood that poured from a cut on her forehead and transferred her knife to her good hand.
At the mention of his name, Marsh knew what he had to do. He undid the safety and pointed it at the hunter attacking Tasha. His hands shook as he tried to muster up the training he’d had when he’d first gotten his own gun. “Back the fuck down!” He yelled at them, finger ready at the trigger and praying to god for the first time since he was a kid that he wouldn’t have to fire it.
“I will shoot you.” He added for added emphasis in an attempt to stop the endless cycle of violence.
Nina got off the floor. She raised her hands and eased away from Tasha. Her wrist hurt. Her head hurt. She was fuming, but she knew it wasn’t a strategically advantageous situation. The way the guy with the gun was shaking, she doubted he’d get off a clean shot; He might even jump if she yelled, ‘Boo!’ But she didn’t want an accidental bullet to the bicep either. “Fine!” she said through clenched teeth. “How many times is someone going to point a gun at me for trying to do my job in this piece of crap town?”
Keeping her eyes on the three of them, Nina skirted the edge of the open floor and pulled the table off the volunteer in the Hard Rock shirt. Ryan’s own knife was in his back? She pulled it out. Blood spurted all over the place. “Get up.” She grabbed the girl, Alia, by the armpits of her tie dye shirt and unceremoniously dragged her away from the werewolf. On the way, Alia came to and she was able to lean on Nina and limp out on one leg. Ryan wasn’t far behind.
The door slammed shut behind the three of them. The fire alarm was still screeching. The jukebox kept playing.
‘Love me, love me
I know that you need me
I can't care 'bout anything but you…’
Brian sat up, sweaty and pale. “If I die to this song, it’s your fault,” he told Tasha.
Tasha watched them retreat, her palm pressed against the top of her eye to try to staunch some of the flow of blood. Her other wrist was swollen and red. She turned to Brian, tired, pissed at the hunters. His comment made her break into a grin, though. “It could have been worse,” she commented. “It could have been…”
The hunter trailed off and turned her head to spit blood out of her mouth. “Sorry. I can’t think of anything funny right now. You guys okay?”
Marsh slowly turned the safety back on the gun and threw it on the bar. While he didn’t suffer any physical injury like the other two, holding a gun again was something he never ever wanted to do. He sunk down onto the floor behind the bar and tried to disappear inside of himself.
He couldn’t say a word, even if he wanted to his lips wouldn’t form them. Maybe he should be calling an ambulance for Tasha and Brian but all he could do was hide from the feelings that were overwhelming.
Brian flexed his shoulder. Through the caked up blood, he could see blistering around the entry wound of the knife. “I think I might be allergic to silver.” At least his ear lobe was still attached. He looked down at his side and pulled out a chunk of glass. Blood spilled out. Whoops, probably shouldn’t have done that until he had a wad of gauze ready in his hand. Brian grabbed a napkin dispenser from the only table he could reach and robbed the whole stash to put pressure on his side. He looked at Tasha’s face. “You’re looking kind of metal, T.Sloan. Hey, Marsh, can you do me a favor?” He couldn’t see the bartender to know what was happening with him; all he knew was the voice told him Marsh was alive, which was good enough for now. “Nevermind. I got it.” Brian got up off the floor and went for his pants.
Tasha snorted. Each movement in her face sent a wave of pain through it. Had that foot aimed just a little lower, she might have been dealing with a cracked eye socket. Small favors. “Ya don’t say,” she countered, getting back to her feet. She grabbed a bar towel that looked clean enough and pressed it to the wound. That’s when she spotted Marsh. “Shell shocked?” she asked him sympathetically.
To Brian, she added, “We need to shut this place down and do triage somewhere else. Soon-ish.”
Brian had his boxer briefs on, but only one leg in his pants. It was a Herculean effort. He looked at the door, thinking if anybody came in now, they’d get the picture that they weren’t serving. Then it hit him that Tasha might be worried about the hunters sending in back-up, so all he said was, “Good thinking.” He finished with his clothes, grabbed his keys out of his jeans, and made it to the fire alarm box to shut it off. Brian’s next stop was the ice box. Just once, it would be cool if a customer dialed 911 for them.
Out of nowhere, the wild-haired bartender Ruby reappeared through the back door. “My bad!” she called, shelling out of her jacket. “I took a phone call. Two minutes turned into five.o Whoa. What happened to you?”
Brian shook his head. “Call Nikk and get her to help lock up. I’ll call you later.”
Ruby groaned. This was going to be one of those bloodborne pathogen spill-kit kinds of nights.