WHO:Birkhoff & Killian WHEN: Recently WHERE: Bar WHAT: Drop off and then a bar fight WARNINGS: super mild violence STATUS: complete
Birkhoff had been to his fair share of ‘drop offs’, really. He ran with a community of exceptionally paranoid people, they weren’t known for trusting each other off the bat, so he kind of understood Killian’s contact being all about a shady meeting in a bar and whatever.
It also helped that he knew what the hell was going on, the Raspberry Pi’s weren’t overly pricey but the content was the important factor, and when Killian started dealing in data he didn’t know, but Birkhoff wasn’t about to bitch about the peek he’d be getting into some exceptionally interesting data figures.
He could deal with a bar for the few hours it would probably take to get through this, even if he was doing a lot of bonding with Kenzi’s family lately, at least this one didn’t involve any small people with body fluids.
Well, alright, occasionally Killian could possess something like a heart, or a conscience - one might argue he did far more often than a dastardly pirate should (he had a reputation to uphold) but the fact of the matter was, sometimes his clients needed his services but couldn’t afford his prices. There came the rare instance he’d let them pay in trade of some sort, or maybe even working off the debt by doing some grunt work for him - in this case, the fellow in question was a computer nerd not quite of Birkhoff’s calibre who cried and cried about how he believed, deep in the pit of his gut, his girlfriend he’d met via World of Warcraft guild was cheating on him.
Unfortunately, she was. The sorry four-eyed nerd got all the confirmation he needed, and now Killian needed a paycheque. He also hadn’t had a ‘cheating lover’ case in awhile - they were the cornerstone of any PI career, like eggs for breakfast. Sometimes he missed them, after a substantial amount of some real fucking dark shite.
“So, what the bloody hell is it again? Does it actually look like a raspberry?” he asked, completely and utterly confused. Likely Birkhoff would have more use for this payment than Killian would (though any pirate would not turn down a chance to hoard treasure), so he could have it to look at whatever he wanted. “And by the way, I do recommend the ale in this place.”
It was a bar in Dana Point that, as Killian had discovered, was perfect for his kind. You know - the standard fishermen, marines, dirty sailors. Pirates. Salted and weathered men, people who wanted a place to go to that had cheap drinks and beer after a long day out at sea. These were his kind of people - besides, the cook could bust out a damn delicious burger if you asked for one; the rest of the pub grub was decent but the burgers.
Ale, right, okay. “I could go for ale.” Most of the time Seymour’s drinks held more caffeine or sugar than they did much else, sometimes the sugar content rivalled the liquid mass, but he figured that he needed the focus more often than not and he’d pickle his liver one way or another. But ale was… presumably good enough so he could have a try of it at least. When in Rome and all that.
And this Rome was apparently one of Killian’s hang outs where he knew what was good, so…
Talking about fruit had Birkhoff frowning though, until he remembered that Killian wasn’t even as tech involved as Kenzi was with their gaming. “No, it’s… No. It’s a computer, but it’s a basic information drive, not what most people think a computer is. It’s a data card with the circuiting and matrixes that’ll basically run a small device that plugs into a larger device.” It was kind of ingenious, easily portable, meant to be used for the transfer of data and digital programming, but it was adapted so well. “It’s like a credit card, basically.”
Killian was certainly not as tech-savvy as Kenzi, and definitely not like her hacker manfriend either. In fact, Kenzi was the one who helped transition her brother from more hand-written ways of doing things to file systems on a secured laptop, though with some cases he did still prefer to take notes by hand. For the really complicated jobs (and private investigation involved a lot of getting into certain databases and systems - some his licence allowed him access to, others not so much) that’s what he used his connections for.
People like Birkhoff, who were skilled at what they did. And he sometimes worked with Birkhoff when he needed to - may as well keep it in the family, and he liked the computer geek just fine.
“A credit card?” he repeated, rubbing his scruffy chin thoughtfully. “Hm, I see. That makes sense. The fellow was rather insistent that it’d pay for the job I did, many times over. Suppose if it doesn’t I can just cut his legs off at the knees.” Wink. Killian was teasing. Or was he?
Since he did know what was good here, he ordered them both complex, Belgian-style beers meant to be savoured like wine and not necessarily chugged. Just to start off with. “By the way, have you met Kenzi’s mum? Hide your valuables, if she comes over,” he advised, and saluted Birkhoff with that beer when it arrived.
Not having a lot of experience with the PI people thing, Birkhoff was puzzling out just how serious Killian actually was about the knees thing. It stood to reason that messages had to be sent to non-payers, but it seemed like more of a loan shark thing than a PI thing to do. Then again, pirate in another life, so to speak, so it was entirely possible that Killian worked by those methods.
Percy’s methods were a little more gruesome, and Amanda was fairly sadistic so Birkhoff had dreamed plenty in that regard. “If he’s a hacker, you’re better taking a finger or two.” Nothing important, the thumbs tended to be fairly easy to swap out, having worked with numerous broken digits before, he knew it was a pain, but not impossible.
Cradling the drink for a moment, Birkhoff’s eyebrow rose up, “She’s that bad?” He knew bits and pieces about Kenzi’s family situation, like the start of how she ended up with her website, since he helped her secure the system for her transfers, he had a general idea of the asshole her mother picked over her daughter. But he wasn’t aware of just how deep that went. “She mentioned you weren’t a fan. I haven’t met her yet, just the hint that Kenzi might make the introduction at some point.” Which was probably the closest they’d get to meet-the-parents, since his parents thought he was dead, and if they found out he wasn’t, his NSA father would likely need to arrest him.
Better taking a finger or two. Oh ho, that was actually rather funny - it made Killian chuckle, because it was true. No doubt he’d have zero qualms about taking payment by using rather piratical methods (they’d cut off your limbs if you betrayed your crew, you know), but anyway. He’d do his part now, and warn Birkhoff about Galina’s rather manipulative ways.
“Not a fan, no,” Killian confirmed - and he believed he had good reason not to be. “Takes a liar to spot one, and my sister’s got quite a bit of skill at fooling people herself. But when it comes to her mum the blind spot negates all that.” Not that he could blame Kenzi for it - she wanted a parent who gave a fuck, since Brennan was dead and wouldn’t have been sober long enough to provide those much-needed fucks to give about his kids regardless.
He hadn’t with the first two, hence why Liam ended up basically raising Killian himself. Very little help from the sperm donor.
“At any rate, Galina claims she left the pig of a husband - I’m having some associates up north check out a few things and report back to me,” he added, taking another swig of beer. “My instincts say the woman’s full of it. She’s here for money and once she gets it, she’ll vanish like a fart in the wind.” Hell if she was going to get her hands on anything valuable though, Killian could promise that.
Ah, and here we are - speaking of hackers. The greasy-haired, beady-eyed jilted lover in question showed up then, looking about as out of place as an oar on a speedboat. “Over here, mate,” Killian waved him closer. “Relax, no one bites. Unless you’ve had a few shots of tequila first. Have you got the raspberry thing?”
As soon as it exchanged hands, Killian gave it to Birkhoff. “How’s it look?”
He’d made a few assumptions about Kenzi’s homelife, that much was true, he wasn’t the type to share so he hadn’t really been prying into her life either. He assumed that would change a little, the more time they spent together, her mom showing up. Actually having one of those ‘so these are the skeletons in my closet’ discussions might need to happen. “She said something like that…” Waiting to see just what Galina wanted before Birkhoff met her, and the advice to keep a lid on the fact that really, Birkhoff and money were no issue at all.
All in all, Seymour didn’t doubt that even if they disagreed on this, Killian would make sure Kenzi hurt as little as possible should it go the way he predicted, despite Kenzi’s optimistic hope. If Birkhoff knew anything, given the spectacle that was Inari’s death in his home and the family holiday’s with Kenzi’s extended group, well, he pitied anyone messing with that family unit anyway.
He wasn’t about to dig much deeper when Killian’s contact showed up and he rolled his eyes, because did all of their kind have to immortalise the stereotype? Since it was the reason he was there, Birkhoff plugged the card into his tablet, accessing the data block without fully installing it on his drive in case there was an issue and running a sweep. “It’s probably worth keeping his digits.” Wasn’t exactly bank breaking stuff, but probably some stepping blocks. And a small half finished credit card scam code. “Could screw with Macy’s near Christmas too.”
“Now that is a fine idea,” Killian nodded, pleased with the assessment. He didn’t particularly need to be breaking into banks (he had some morality left - or rather, he was a ‘keep it to what’s necessary’ type of law-breaker) so a few Christmas gifts free of charge really wouldn’t be too bad in the scheme of things. “It’s going to be a grand holiday season. Provided that it doesn’t snow a fucking foot again.” Honestly, why in the hell was that necessary? Bloody Orange County. It kept killing the topside garden on the deck of his houseboat and he was rather fond of home-grown carrots.
Turning to glance at the contact, he decided to spare the fellow and let him take his leave. No doubt he felt uncomfortable in a bar, but it’d been his idea to meet in a place like this - no one he knew would ever see him. “You’re alright to go. Thanks for the raspberry, mate,” Killian bid him adieu, and then he was gone.
Business was done, so sticking around for another drink seemed like a fine idea as well. The Captain also made the executive decision to order them another and relax. Only that was when some grizzled old twat staggered into Birkhoff from behind, knocking into him so that his beer ultimately spilled over the edge of the bar. All of that beauty, wasted!
“Excuse you,” Killian snapped at the offender, who just gave a bleary-eyed grin.
“Sorry. Should watch that, the glass was full too,” he said, and he didn’t sound sorry. This fellow must have a hair up his arse about something, like he needed to pick a fight.
See, this was why Birkhoff barely really bothered about socialising at all. He didn’t really like it that much because it included people, other people, just people in general. And Birkhoff had a very narrow margin of people that he liked, it was maybe a handful.
And as the liquid sloshed over the bar, splashing on the cuff of his shirt, “Aw man,” he was definitely going to smell like booze now. “Seriously? I’m not even moving? I’m literally sitting stationary.” Like, it wasn’t that big a deal. It was just a beer and it was just a damp sleeve, but... Birkhoff rarely knew when to just shut up.
“Has walking and breathing at the same time always been difficult for you?”
“What the fuck did you say to me?” snarled the man, who looked like he had seen some shit in his day. Or started some shit. But Killian, in particular, wasn’t too concerned. He wouldn’t mind the adrenaline rush that came about with a good fight.
“Old and deaf,” the pirate scoffed. “Probably been knocked in the head too many times, and now he’s about to get another.” He stood up immediately, and wished he had his hook on him - but he hardly wore the grotesque appendage in public, not in this modern-day society where it was frowned upon to walk around with a weapon attached to you in plain view. He didn’t want Kenzi or Regina to have to constantly bail him out of jail, after all.
Though he’d see what happened tonight. Especially after he slugged the fucker who spilled Seymour’s beer, in the face, hard, a crack against bone that satisfyingly crunched his nose. “You watch where you’re going next time,” he spat on the other man, and that was when all hell broke loose.
Apparently these people were pent up and ready to brawl. Fair enough, bring it on, then.
Bar fights were not Seymour’s thing.
Oh sure, he’d been in a few, he did go to college and do the college thing and make some exceptionally poor choices (after faking his death he’d set the bar for that though) so he wasn’t stupid enough to just sit by and wait to get clocked in the skull. Oh no.
It was unlikely that half of these people even cared why Killian had decided to break a face, they just saw a fight and decided it was a good idea. Since there were two guys Seymour didn’t know or think Killian did at all, just brawling around in the corner like it was Summer Slam. So fine. The first person that grabbed at Birkhoff got an elbow to the face and shook off while Birkhoff made a point of avoiding the tank by the far end of the bar that looked like he was ready to snap someone.
“I’m pointing out right now, this is your fault. Yours. You started this not me, I just snark, you hit people.” Like Birkhoff ever got control over his mouth.
“‘Course I did,” Killian grinned in return, a triumphant flash of shark’s teeth among the hustle and bustle, the loud din in the fine establishment. “It’s rather stress-relieving, if I do say so myself. Come on, you’ve got to really get into it. Pick up a barstool and clobber someone - you’ll feel better afterward.”
This was the type of place where the bartender wasn’t likely to call the police if a scuffle broke out - because it seemed to happen every night. If there were gunshots or something, then yes, that was a little too far. But throwing punches, spitting and name calling, a shanking here or there, picking up bottles and whacking fuckers over the head? That was alright.
The latter was what Killian did next, slamming a beer bottle down onto the back of someone’s skull - didn’t matter who it was, but if they came at him, they were getting hit. Helped with paving a way to the exit as well since if the police were called, he didn’t want to be around for it.
So, stress relief appeared to be starting fist fights in bars, but… Well Seymour could sort of see the appeal, at least for people who were able to fight and all that. Seymour didn’t fall into that category really. Going with the flow would just have to do for now, and keeping an eye on where Killian was for that whole escape thing later.
He didn’t quite get to the ‘break a bar stool over a head’ thing until he got punched in the face, which was a bitch, sure, but it could’ve been worse. The bar stool was actually a reflex after that which he grabbed and smashed literally on the man’s forehead.
Usually, his stress relief came from single person shooters, or multiplayer shooters, or GTA. But Killian might have a point because that actually felt like it might’ve let out a little bit of his near constant tension in his back. So fine, he’d just hit whatever happened to come at him, bitch about the sore fists later and hope to god he didn’t get arrested.
“There you go!” As soon as Killian saw Birkhoff break a barstool over someone’s head (that was a damn good shot too, wood meeting hard skull was never fun for the person getting smashed) he felt such an overwhelming sense of pride well up in him. Excuse him for a moment, he might even be getting a little misty-eyed. What a beautiful sight.
But, hm, anyway. The exit was now in sight, and he didn’t want either he or Birkhoff to get too roughed up. Give it another minute and they might need to start dodging knife blades and while Killian’s reflexes were quick, he didn’t feel like tempting fate much tonight either.
Whistling to get Seymour’s attention, he motioned toward the door. “Let’s make a break for it while we can,” he advised over the din - and he was ready with another bottle should someone try to stop either of them from leaving.
Exit, stage left. Seemed liked a wise fucking choice, because he doubted this was going to calm down all that soon if he were being realistic, and jail or hospital wasn’t the way to end this day at all. It was barely the way to end any day.
He even managed to get in a solar plexus punch when someone actually grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, like seriously, he didn’t need more damage to his clothes, thanks. “Yes, good, great.” Getting out was high on the list. He had his shit in his pockets and Killian’s payment at hand, so the best thing to do was get out.
“You just enjoy violence, don’t you? Just random, chaotic violence.” How did he always manage to end up around these people?
“Aye,” Killian responded cheerfully, once they were safely outside and breathing in air salted by the sea - it was so invigorating. “You feel a bit better after that, don’t you? It’s like it scratches an itch you never even knew needed scratching, relieves tensions you were carrying with you for awhile.”
Of course, sometimes he used fucking to relieve those tensions as well - but he wasn’t about to talk in length about that or advise such things, especially when Birkhoff was dating his sister. There were some things he was fine not knowing about Kenzi, her bedroom habits being one of them.
To the new Mustang, then. Bought after he’d wrecked the former junkyard beauty that was Sally (thanks to that slag Inari). But Sally II was just as lovely. “We ought to shoot the shit more often,” he mused. “Not literally, but you know what I mean. I promise next time it won’t involve a bar fight.”
Aside from the mild sting in his face, which likely would bruise a bit but fade, Birkhoff would admit that yes, it had been a fairly good way to unwind somewhat. He wasn’t completely sold on the notion of starting a bar fight for the sake of a bar fight, but Killian wasn’t wrong. “Yeah, okay, so it didn’t not help.” Which was just his own petulant way of agreeing.
Seymour would be forever grateful that Killian didn’t bring up sex, because he’d need to kill himself if they had to have any kind of discussion about that considering who he was knocking boots with.
“No bar fight would be great, I’m only allowed so much excitement before the sugar in my system could cause a heart attack.” Medically unlikely, but still. “Aside from that, super fun time.” Killian wasn’t exactly bad company, but Birkhoff had to make sure that he didn’t suddenly get far too social.
Killian would consider ‘super fun time’ to be a compliment. Next time they could maybe go out on the Roger, drink rum, be rascally pirates for a day without actually sailing anywhere (manning a lovely ship without a crew was rather difficult - though some day he would be putting together his own crew, a new version). And Birkhoff would get some sun, a bit of colour to that pale hide of his.
Hopefully the dose of Vitamin D wouldn’t cause a heart attack either, but not to worry - Killian would take extra good care of his sister’s fellow, as always.