Commander (the_commander) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-06-13 05:45:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, commander tyra shepard, neena thurman (domino), pete wisdom |
"They travel in packs. Are the other thirty-five of you keeping the bike seat warm, then?"
Who: Shepard, Pete Wisdom and Neena Thurman
What: Bars. Bar fights with Biker Clowns. Elephant shaped molatov cocktails. A typical Tuesday Night for Pete Wisdom
Where: Some dive bar
When: Tuesday night
Status: Complete
Rating: PG-13 for blunderbusses
Shepard was out drinking again. She'd been doing it quite a bit, lately, though she knew she needed to cut down, but she had been feeling really off. Worried. Desolate. A little hopeless. She didn't want to bother Garrus, he had his own issues with Tali. Things with Liara were still too new. So she was back with her old friend Dr. Whiskey and wishing she had a sniper rifle and some cans to obliterate. That would make her feel less desolate.
Shooting cans with a sniper rifle was one of Dom's favorite pastimes, so she could commisserate. Her own reasons for visiting Dr. Whiskey had less to do with desolation and more to do with people watching. Shepard watching, if one was telling the truth to anyone. Not that she was. Telling the truth, anyway. Right now, she was reading a gun manual, nursing a whiskey glass, and minding her own business.
Somehow or other, Pete managed to walk into the same place looking for Dr. Whiskey, that other people were looking for Dr. Whiskey in. How that happened is by some strange twist of fate that is inexplicable. But he's there. And wandering up to the bar and ordering...doctor whiskey. While smoking.
"Put the fag out," Shepard replied morosely. "Or give me one. I'm good with either right now." She was in a sour mood, and tapped the bar for another drink.
No matter how many times she'd been out and about in other countries where fag was slang for torch or cigarette, Dom still thought someone was bashing on gay men when she heard it. It gave the phrase 'put the fag out' a whole new meaning. She tried not to snicker at the mental image of a gay man running around on fire, and flipped a page in her manual.
"Bugger off. I'm not putting the bloody thing out," Pete said with a sneer, because there was maybe only one person on the planet who could make him put it out, and she wasn't near him nor would be near him again. Even worse, he knew the moment he stepped over here that he'd get lynched and lamps and curtains thrown at him, the moment he mentioned lighting a fag, so he'd been consciously saying cigarette every chance he got. Now he was in a more sour mood. That was why a cigarette was unceremoniously tossed at Shepard. "Wot're you doing here?"
"Drinking," She replied, her lips turning up into a small smirk, "It's that pastime that people do when they want to forget things exist. You should try it sometime, it does wonders."The former marine picked up her new whiskey when it was poured, and downed half of it.
And of course Wisdom was here. That just made Dom's night complete. She was probably going to get caught here now, since he had this way of noticing everything. It'd be worse for her if she tried to get up and move further into the back, or leave, or shrink into her seat more, or really do anything at all that drew attention to herself. So instead she kept on the way she had been. She mentally started coming up with the various reasons she'd be here, and discarded the ones that sounded too contrived. Wisdom wouldn't ask too many questions in public, anyway.
"I don't need anyone to define wot drinking is." Pete sat down but as usual, it was in a spot that gave him a good enough vantage point to see the doors and any windows. His eyes began to skim over the room, taking in possible escape routes and suspicious looking people who might be sneaking peeks in his direction. "Besides an' beyond that? The only thing that makes people forget, is when they drink t'the point where they're pushing up daisies."
"I'm not that far gone yet." Shepard laughed, and downed the rest of her glass, "I'm rusty. I was taken too easily. I'm a liability. God help us if these dreams start coming true." She couldn't protect herself, so how would she be able to protect anyone else, especially the people she loved? "Another one, Jorge."
Dom flipped another page in her manual and made a mental note that Shepard was feeling vulnerable lately. Taken too easily indeed. It didn't sound like she was just making that up, either. Bars were one of the most awesome places for intel, as long as you knew how to weed out the bullshit.
Pete stopped his skimming over the room to lob a pointed staring at over at Shep. That stare was a little reproachful, and his voice was kept low but the words themselves were sharp as knives, "You must've knocked back a fair few t'be talking about that in an unsecure location. Keep it down, would you? Another time and place for that business, which is going t'get sorted sooner or later."
Pete knew all about meetings and listening in on conversations in pubs, such as The Crown, to pick up tidbits of interest here and there. This was no neutral location, like The Crown or the place he and Shepard had met in, before.
Shepard shrugged, like she didn't give a damn. Let them hear her. She won't be rusty forever and taking her as easily wouldn't happen again. Especially if they thought she was off her game.
She gave Pete a little smirk behind her glass, then set it down, "It's not like I need to worry about anything right now. The only person paying any attention is that hottie in the corner." That woman really was hot, too. And Shepard wasn't sure where she stood with Liara. She slid out of the bar stool and made her way over to the Woman with the Spectacular butt, "Hey. You shouldn't drink alone. How about I buy you something?"
Crap. "The Hottie in the Corner is drinking whiskey and didn't really mind drinking alone, but she won't turn down free drinks, either." Dom gave Shepard her most winning cocky smile, closed her manual, and placed it on the table.
Pete's head tipped to one side and his mind boggled for a moment, because the last person he expected to find in the same bar was Domino. Much less with Shepard trying to hit on her. Pete was blinking, hard, at Dom and her cocky little smile, and he felt a stab of suspicion at the strange twist that just presented itself. Which was why he downed his a whiskey with lightning speed and ordered another, so that he could squint and watch what was going on, without intervening. Domino, he knew, could handle herself, just as much as Shepard could. Even if he'd rather the two didn't mix, because of the volatile nature of what Shepard, her friend, and he were going to be doing. And less loose lips to sink ships were a good thing, in Pete's book.
Grinning, Shepard gestured for two more glasses of whiskey, then sat down, and said, "I actually..kind of have a girl. Or I'd really put a number on you. But my friend there, over at the bar, well he needs some loosening up. And I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but your ass is the kind of ass that needs to be tapped. Crime against nature not to be."
Shep might be a little tipsy.
"I don't think it's very polite to go marching on over here offering me a drink if you don't mean to provide some follow-through, lady." The cocky grin turned into a teasing smirk, and she tilted her head to the side a bit, like she was sizing Shepard up. "Kind of doesn't sound too binding of a commitment to me." She leaned back then and glanced over at Pete, with the sort of appraising look that one stranger would give to someone who was being offered up like Shepard was offering Wisdom up, and scrunched up her nose, "You're right, he really does seem like the type that needs some loosening up. It's a shame my bus doesn't stop at the bargain bin."
"Tart," Pete retorted snippily, "I cleaned up t'day. It's not as though you'd be rubbish diving. Feck off." He was all too willing to play the part of someone disgruntled, the hell with stepping in now and speaking up. Besides that, Shep had just gone to the one person he couldn't do much of anything with, because of being wary of sucking chest wounds...of which Domino started the whole saying anyway. It was her fault he even knew it, in the first place. To be honest, though, he didn't feel safe enough to hook up with anyone anymore, or just anyone, so the whole concept was pretty moot. He held up a freshly poured glass of whiskey and a lit cigarette, one thing in each hand. "I've got me dates for the night, right here."
Shepard laughed, "How come the real sexy ones only come out of the woodwork when I'm not available?" She flipped Wisdom off, and continued, "He's got a sharp tongue, you could probably take advantage of that." The marine snickered, and started on the newly arrived whiskey. Meanwhile, outside, trouble was brewing....
Dom blew Pete a kiss in response to his commentary, then picked up her new whiskey and toasted Shepard with it, "He DOES have quite a tongue on him. But does he have the stamina, I wonder." She was enjoying this more than she probably should be, but it couldn't be helped. She twinkled her eyes at Shepard, "Is he a friend of yours? Is he bright enough to know what a woman means when she shoves a man's head between her legs?"
"Oh, for christ's sake," Pete said with an eyeroll. He acted like he caught the kiss with the swipe of one hand in the air, then leaned on the barstool and rubbed the palm of his hand over an asscheek. With his sharp tongue, he sure as HELL knew what he was doing, and had done his fair share or preemptive diving into the taco buffet there. Just to be a real sleazy smart ass, he was sure to ask in a faux-sweet tone that he knew Domino would get as him screwing with her in the figurative sense, "I don't know, luv? The whole thing really depends on one thing..if you know how to suck cock without gagging every second or two. Then we can discuss some terms and conditions."
He took out a pen and doodled a big angry heart on a napkin and held it up to them both.
Domino was turning Shepard on, she had to admit that. The woman had brass. She turned and looked at Pete and raised her eyebrows, "She'll probably have a better time than I would, down there." If she was ever going to sleep with a man, it wouldn't be Wisdom. It probably wouldn't be any man alive. Sorry Garrus. "Of course I'm a biter."
The front door of the bar slammed open, and in walked a man. He wore black biker leather, complete with studs. But his hair and beard were dyed bright red. With how pale he was, he vaguely resembled a clown.
The entrance of the man who vaguely resembled a clown cut Dom off before she could mention that she was a perfect lady in the bedroom, and perfect ladies always swallowed. Which was sad, because she was dying to see Wisdom's reaction to that, and kind of curious how Shepard would react, as well. She pulled her drink and manual closer to her, protecting them in case this man meant any harm, and wrinkled her nose a bit.
That's okay. Shep wasn't Pete's type, either. He apparently liked a mixture of fun, soft, and stubborn ass girl-next-door disguised as a cow-eyed super ninja. The look he gave the clown was not as appreciative as the glancing at he'd given Domino, however, and his lips were pursed around the cigarette in his mouth. There were a whole fat lot of things that Pete hated. Clowns were one of those things. He wasn't scared of them, but rather he thought they could all spontaneously combust and the world would be a better place. Because clowns - even the ones in biker leather - were 100% idiotic.
"Pardon me, chap?" said Pete, like a polite little Brit. "I think you missed the door that said 'gay halloween clown biker hangout.' It's a few kilometers to the west of here. Get back on your bike with your fifty fecking friends balanced on the back and ride off the nearest cliff. I'm sure you'll find it at the bottom. Cheers."
The biker stood about a foot taller and three feet wider than Pete. He walked up to the man and poked a finger into the scrawny man's chest. His voice was deep, like the ocean, and gravelly, like there was a lifetime of smoking. His nose had a reddish tint, from riding his bike previously. It didn't help the clown look, in the slightest, "Wot was that, mate?"
From her angle, Shepard could see the 'Killer Clown Posse' logo on the back of the man's jacket. She couldn't help it. She laughed. The clown turned and shot her a murderous look. She held up a hand. Which had her glass in it. So she toasted him and took a drink. Around that time, fifteen more of the gang filed in.
"Hells," muttered Dom, under her breath. She picked up her own whiskey glass and drank it all down, because any second now there was going to be a brawl, and not a single precious drop of it should be spilled.
"Oh god," Pete moaned like it was his idea of hell, all while doing a headcount. "They travel in packs. Are the other thirty-five of you keeping the bike seat warm, then?"
Pete might be wiry, and more so because he'd dropped some weight recently due to the flu and pneumonia. That didn't keep him from mouthing off. He'd mouth off to a seven foot tall metal man with metal fists, and not be too bothered. Besides, these silly bastards looked as though they just got off a boat with their bikes in tow, after being scraped off the sewers in London like pond scum. Only that scum wasn't fish shit, it was of the human waste variety, and it was in abundance. In fact, while he waited for a response, Pete downed his own drink, and then flicked some ash toward the boss bastard in question. Because this looked like a fine way to die. Or, at least, a notable way to kick the bucket. Beat to death by clown bikers? No one would forget that.
One clown, the shortest of the clowns at about 3 feet, pulled out a knife. The first clown, clearly the leader, wound up his fist with every intention of sending Pete's teeth out the back of his head. The other clowns started tearing shit up, starting with Shepard and Dom's booth.
"All I wanted was a nice, quiet drink," Dom sighed with mock annoyance. She tucked her gun manual in the pocket of her jacket, then tossed her whiskey glass at whatever unlucky clown bastard attacked her booth first. Then she slid down under the table of the booth, yanked a hand out at a gangster clown leg, and tripped him.
That was, ironically, exactly what Pete did. Because who winds their fist up like that, without knowing damn well what's going to happen? He smirked around his cigarette and the empty glass went flying right toward the leader clown's forehead, just as Pete simultaneously slid off the stool so he wasn't a stationary target.
The littlest clown came barreling towards Dom and Shepard. Tyra side-stepped him, slamming a bottle into the back of his head. Grinning, she leapt at another biker clown, using the now broken bottle as a melee weapon, keeping her injured arm away from any potential danger. Leader Clown picked some glass out of his forehead, growled in a very unclownlike manner, and flipped open a switch blade. A pair of clowns tried to get at Dom beneath the table!
Reluctant to end this battle quickly with the pistol in its holster under her jacket, Dom shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and fumbled around for potential weaponry. She pulled out an elastic band and slingshot it at the face of one of the clowns, who took the hit near the eyeball and yelped in pain. That gave Dom a chance to grab the other guy and pull him close enough for him to wail on him a few times with her fist.
"You brought a knife to a gunfight. Really," Pete said, reaching in under his trenchcoat and jacket to draw out one of his handguns. In his mind, why fuck around and let a perfectly good watering hole be busted up, by amateurs. He'd expected at least some semi-automatic weapons. Oh well, Pete was ending it. Of course, he wasn't going to give them any fatal wounds, but any excuse to go down while firing a gun? Was a good excuse. Umm...? Someone has to keep the peace, before Dommy had her legs humped by angry clown bikers. Or they'd just clown molest her, which he wasn't having.
No one's getting their clown hands on his friend former coworker, and his other friend former coworker didn't like outdoor plumbing. It's just the way she rolled. That's the excuse he's going to use, later on, if he's asked. He's protecting their virtue. Which was precisely why he asked, in a fake pleasant way, "Which one of you fugly bitches wants to dance, first?"
One of the Clown Posse's women pulled out a sawed off shotgun, and promptly opened fire on the bar. Wood and glass splintered everywhere. The rest of the gang took the drawing of guns as permission to pull out their own weaponry. One clown, with neon green hair, sported a pair of Uzi's. Another an american eagle pistol. The rainbow haired man had a blunderbuss. Yes, a blunderbuss. Currently loaded with all sorts of nails and glass and other nasty things. Shepard pulled her own gun out and dove for cover, "Now THIS is more like it!"
At least two of the men pulled water pistols. They were sad, sad clowns.
Initiates.
Apparently the initiates into the Clown Posse were stuck with water pistols and balloon animals for weapons.
"I'll say," Pete called out to Shep, after having dodged to get out of the way, glass raining down over his back as he moved to get behind the bar. He kicked the bartender in the knee to knock them down onto the floor, made note of where the two poor saps were last, with their water pistols, so that he didn't shoot them.
"Wot's next? Explosive elephants? Seriously, you're the worst...fecking..." Pete popped up over the bar, took one second to pop a shot at the shotgun girl, and ducked back down. "...biker gang, I've ever e'en seen. And you're the first. That's saying summat, innit?"
Dom skittered around a bit under her table so that she could properly kick the guy she'd gotten into a punching match with, right in the balls. She kicked him again to get him out from under her table, because it was HER table now, bitches. Clown gangsters beware!
She poked her head out a bit at the sound of guns going off and snorted, "Water pistols, they're mocking us now." This whole situation was going to get ridiculous before it was over, she was sure of it. So why not have a little fun, right? Kicking that clown away from her again, she reached a hand back up on top of the table and grabbed the napkin dispenser, which she chucked at someone's head. Salt and pepper shakers soon followed, though she was sadly running out of things to throw after that.
Did someone say elephants? One of the clowns pulled out a molotov cocktail - glass in the shape of an elephant. He started to light it. Shepard took a shot, but not quickly enough to stop the cocktail from being lit. As the man flailed his hand, the glass elephant fell to the ground. In slow motion. And then they were fighting biker clowns in a burning bar.
"This night keeps getting better an' better," Pete said with a nose wrinkle at the burning smell. He nudged the bartender with his foot. "Right, you there. I'm going to shoot this off into the air, very wildly. And you are going t'run out the nearest emergency exit. Ready? Count of three. Three!"
Pete popped up over the bar and started firing, hitting one biker in the arm, and another in the leg. Let them try to throw around flaming elephants and such again. At least they'll live, if they hobble enough. But he was making it a point to at least get the poor civilian bastard out so he could collect some insurance money off the fire damage. If he didn't have that, then it was his bad and Pete wasn't paying a pence in recompense. Screw you, biker clowns.
It was totally the fault of the biker clowns anyway. It's not like any of them asked for the biker clowns to show up and start wreaking havoc like that. The three of them were just defending themselves. From her spot now perched on top of the table, Dom punched a guy in the face and stole his pistol.
She took a quick look at it while ducking a retaliatory punch to the nose, and snorted, "How does this thing even shoot straight? Look what a piss poor job you did taking care of it." Then, she grinned at the guy, pointed at his foot, and shot him with it, "... I guess it gets the job done, though."
Shepard yanked her clown's head into the floor, courtesy of a puke green chunk of hair. Then she kicked him in the balls and dove for cover again as Mr. Uzi's bullets ripped up the floor where she'd been standing. There was another shot gun blast to her right, and then the guy with the blunderbuss got the thing to fire, without backfiring and killing himself and his buddies. All that booze above the bar exploded into pretty, liquidy shrapnel!
That was unfortunate, that they'd killed the booze. Pete had time to grab a couple of toppling bottles, taking a drink from one before he looked at the labels. He was in luck! Pete had conveniently happened to grab a bottle of what looked to be hundred and fifty one proof everclear. It was the nice bottle with the 'do not apply to open flame' warning on it. For the first time since he'd been in California, Pete actually went :D at the bottle and formulated a plan to get them all out of there. Indeed, he decided it was time to get the clowns to clear out by causing more panic in their ranks.
That plan in action, Pete stood up and hurled the bottle toward the burning bit on the floor, all while firing off shots with the gun in his other hand. "Out you go, you lot! Go on, then! Clown bastard arseholes!"
This was turning out to be way more fun than anyone should have in a raging fire-burning biker clown bar battle, and Dom dares anyone to say that phrase 5 times fast. She hummed the Star Wars Cantina music to herself while pistol whipping a guy with fuschia hair and a heart painted on his face, then shooting his orange-afro-wig-wearing friend in the leg. A nearby clown managed to sock her a good one in the face, but it was okay, because when the little stars quickly cleared away, she elbowed him in the gut and then pointed out that he was ON FIRE.
As soon as the bottle hit the fire, it exploded, and the fire quickly spread through out the bar with the sort of speed usually reserved for a wild fire. With the smoke getting so thick that it was hard to see or breathe, Shepard started dragging unconscious and injured biker clowns towards the exit. It wouldn't do to have smoke related fatalities, after all. One clown grabbed for her, getting her into a headlock. She jabbed her elbow into a sensitive spot, kicked him away and promptly shot him in the kneecap. While grinning.
That was a good idea, because Pete gave both Shepard and Domino a glancing at, and hummed along with the cantina theme for a few seconds as he punched a nearby clown in the stomach and pushed them back toward the door with a hand over the top half of their face. He even paused and swiveled, kicking one of the lingerers on the ground to get them out of the way of the fire. As he moved, he was coughing and saying, "Go on, you toerags! Move your arses...ugh...I ne'er thought I'd say this, but this' too much smoke...."
"Did you save any of the booze?" Dom's tone was casual, like she got into these sorts of tussles every day of the week. She dragged fuschia-heart clown to the exit, kicking a few tables out of the way as she went, then tossed him out the door without any ceremony whatsoever. The smoke was acrid at this point and getting thick enough that seeing was really becoming a problem. She pulled her tank top up over her mouth and looked around to see if there was any further reason to stay in the bar, before heading outside, herself.
Shepard retrieved an unbroken glass of scotch and dragged the last of the biker clowns out of the bar, before bending over in a coughing fit that even Pete Wisdom would be proud of. Fuck. Could this day get any stranger?
"No dear, I didn't, dear...and we're not going back for it, dear," Pete was saying as he gave his clown biker a kick to the ass to get them out of the door. He coughed glared at the clown he'd kicked earlier as they crawled out, reaching into his coat and taking out his emergency flasks, for emergency situations. Oh, well, of course, Shep had thought to save a lone bottle of scotch, which was a good thing. Once he stops coughing, maybe they can drink some. Or, actually now that he thought on it, there was also the matter of the authorities showing up, and the fire being put out. Someone's going to have to field that, which was why Pete was eyeing them both like maybe they'd better get out of there, while the getting was good. He'd give the statement.
"Next time think of the booze first, dear," Dom wheezed at him mockingly, then let out a hacking cough to clear her airways of smoke. She knew what that look meant, but damn it, you just didn't finish off an awesome bar fight by running off like this. There needed to be regrouping and more drinking or mutual patching up in someone's bathroom. She snatched the scotch away from Shepard to take a drink out of it, coughed again, and handed it back. "That was bottom shelf scotch. You might as well toss it back on the fire."
Shepard downed a long swig of the bottle, then tossed it into the fire, where it barely made a dent, "Damn. Come on. Let Wisdom handle the cops. He's good at that. If they don't toss him into jail for indecency and being a public menace."
"Someday, I want you to non-marry me," Pete said, as a joke to Domino, because the mere fact she knew bottom shelf scotch was a plus in his book, for...coworkers, past and present. Pete nodded at them both about dealing with the police. "This is the thanks I get for bathing t'day. More hygiene jokes and smoked up from a pub brawl. Brilliant. I'll stop bathing entirely and give you arses summat t'really bitch about. Now make yourselves scarce, while some of these bastards are laying about, whining about being injured." When Shep wasn't looking, Pete gave Domino the thumb and pinky hand-next-to-his-face gesture, the international symbol for 'I'll call you or you call me.'
"Non-marry you! But pookie bear, we've only just met! This is all going far too quickly for me," Dom gigglesnerked at herself, then nodded at Shepard. She noticed Pete's symbol and nodded imperceptibly as she did so, while Shepard wasn't looking, then started heading for her car. "I wonder if it's too late to go buy good scotch somewhere. Now I really need a drink."
"I know a place. It'll have less clowns, and better booze," Shepard replied, giving her a grin. "You've got some nice moves."
"Oi. Turned down again," Pete said with a casual shrug at Shep, looking none too bothered. "I've no talent for flirting, I suppose. Bloody terrible at it, but maybe you've got a chance with 'er. See you later then, petal?"
The irony of calling Shep 'petal' was hilariously funny to him, inwardly, as was the 'go get 'er' he just gave Shep to pursuing Neena. Outwardly, he was leaning against his beat up car, and idly watching the building merrily burning away. It looked as though he was contemplating roasting marshmallows. Or himself. Whichever. Sirens are a'wailing away in the distance, so clearing out was probably for the best.
Shep looked like she was going to shoot him. For calling her Petal. Instead, she led Neena off, and to the humvee. Sorry Neena, you get to experience Shepard's driving. She makes Pete look like an 80 year old granny.