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Bored in New York Started by: Zo on Apr 26, '16 02:43

Zo was, in every single way imaginable, bored out of her mind. The new friend she makes disappears to Detroit, and every cute guy she meets either runs away from her or ends up dead within a few minutes. To be fair, the business is a bit of a boy's world, but that doesn't mean she can't "chill with the girls" or something. Dejected, she wanders into one of the bars she is a regular at and orders a drink. Best way to stop getting bored is to get drunk.

As she is sitting at the bar she notices a sleazy dude trying to chat up two young girls. Normally this wouldn't bother her too much, the girls weren't in any immediate danger, when she notices the guy slip something into their drinks. Furious, she marches up to the guy, and before he can even say anything she punches him in the face.

WHAT ON EARTH WERE YOU DOING! She screams, before proceeding to kick him in the balls repeatedly, making him tip over in pain. I DONT CARE WHAT YOU DO WITH YOUR SEX LIFE, BUT AT LEAST PAY FOR CONSENTING INDIVIDUALS LIKE THE REST OF US SCUMBAG! Satisfied that she had made her point, she checks to see if the girls are okay, before heading back her side of the bar. She hadn't meant to make such a scene, maybe she shouldn't go to this bar anymore after this. She's pondering leaving when someone sits down beside her.

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Keats, out of town on business, didn't recognize the bar. It was one of those vague places that seemed like it could exist in any city in the country. Now a member of a family, he'd been traveling quite a bit- trying to make a good impression by bringing in as much money as he could. Steady money and the meals that accompanied it had helped him fill out his suit a little more substantially. Additionally, his hair was no longer slightly unkempt and the dirt under his fingernails had been washed away. His new life seemed to fit him well, although it mostly consisted of traveling and trying to make business connections with local suppliers. A little worn down, he pushed open the door hoping for a relaxing drink. 

It was at that moment that Zo launched her final powerful kick into the crotch of a man on the ground. For a split second Keats started to slide his hand behind his back for his knife, but quickly realized the situation was entirely in control and instead rested his arm by his side instead. As the man moaning and quietly cursing on the ground began to crawl toward the exit, Keats deftly stepped over him and made his way toward Zo. She was staring into her glass as he slid onto the barstool next to her. 

I believe I promised you a drink the last time we spoke, no?

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Zo turns to him and breaks into a grin

Keats! What a surprise! Looks like the new life is suiting you. What makes you come to this part of town?

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Keats returns the smile as he motions to the bartender for a whiskey.

I've been traveling to a few different cities recently, trying to build up some business contracts- make my way in the world, you know? It's been going fairly well so far. How are things with you?

Keats tilts his head toward the door where the injured man had crawled out.

What was that business all about?

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Things with me are good, I am pretty happy where I am, and I'm trying to put my mark on the world here. As for that sorry excuse for a man, he was trying to drug two young girls over in that corner. I mean, I may be a criminal, but I'm a criminal with morals. 

Zo fiddles with the straw in her drink

Stuff like that happened all the time where I grew up. It is disgusting. 

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Keats raised an eyebrow.

I can certainly empathize with the desire to make an impact on the world. What exactly do you hope to accomplish? Any big plans or dreams?

He quiets as she discusses the two girls. 

I unfortunately know too many people who've experienced the same. Where'd you grow up, that you saw these things?

Glad you took care of him, though. Any idea who he is? If he's connected at all?

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I used to live in this place called Chautauqua county. A while back it got real caught up with cops, so I moved to avoid going to jail from some sort of association. Unfortunately I have no clue who that man is. I have seen him around this bar before, but as far as I'm aware of he is a freelancer of some sorts. He won't show his face around here anymore that's for sure.

 

Zo laughs dryly 

My main dream is to stay alive. I have found some great people and I am loyal all the way, but every move I make is to ensure my safety. What about you? What are your dreams and aspirations?

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Keats listened as Zo described her background, nodding and sipping his drink as he scans the bar. There was an interesting mix of classy looking men and women talking business, while less well dressed groups of people gathered in the edges of the bar. As the topic returned to himself, Keats smiled and finished his drink.

My only dream for a long time was just to get out of the hellhole I was stuck in and survive. I suppose survival is still important, but I also want to be a part of something that I'm willing to die to protect. But long term dreams? Not really. I'm just taking it day by day at this point.

Keats tensed a little as the man that Zo had kicked limped back into the bar, accompanied by a couple friends. They didn't seem to have any guns or sharp weapons, but Keats noticed bronze knuckles on the limping man, who was now pointing at Zo.

Looks like you were wrong about your freelancer friend. I've never been in a barfight before.

Keats grinned as he stood, watching the other men menacingly approach.

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Sitting at one edge of the bar, perched casually on a worn down stool, Hiems took in the atmosphere. You could learn a lot about a place just by sitting and watching. As long as you could sit still and kept your eyes open, that is. If you were smart, you'd pay attention. You'd learn the shifts and nuances in a place like this. A place like this.

He took a small sip of the Mouton Cadet in front of him. Bad vintage this year, rumour was the harvest was facing some trouble. If the Barkeep was smart he'd take every bottle he had and seal it for a few years. Guess he'd not been paying attention. He wouldn't be the first. That's just how things worked, especially in a place like this. Eyes drifting around the bar, he adjusted his seating posture. Nothing too sudden or drastic, but enough to show everyone who was watching that he was awkward, feeling out of place.

He certainly looked it. The charcoal grey suit wasn't brand new and pressed like some of the businessmen talking in hushed whispers, but nor was it a hand-me-down, ill-filling and shaggy. The hat wasn't shy from a dent or two, but the shoes were a masterpiece. Black, smart and just the right amount of wear and scuff. You wear perfectly shined shoes in this city, people noticed. You wore a pair that had a hole or some flayed thread on them, chances are you were a bum. Or about to be one. You get the balance right, add the suit and hat, and you're a nobody. Maybe you make a living selling pans from a cart, or wear it when you're offering window cleaning services to prove how dapper and reputable you are.

The wine would have been the give away. You don't buy Mouton Cadet on a workman's wage, you buy cheap swill and even cheaper gut-rot. He knew they kept the good stuff behind the bar. The amount of brawls a place like this turns over made it the smart choice. Even the Barkeep would have paid attention to that detail. But it's all about keeping up appearances. Ordering a nice red wine that looks to be above your station is one thing, paying for it with crumpled bills and a few coins is another. You get a few distasteful looks from people who disapprove, but that just adds to the authenticity.

With another sip he turned his attention to the couple chatting freely half a dozen stools down the line. The woman was a new face, the man he'd seen from time to time. Hiems had never introduced himself though. What would be the point? Flashy words and a smile, practically shouting out self-importance and trying to make a good impression worked for the long con, but here? Not so much. People could see though that bravado easily as a hot knife went through butter. It was that kind of city.

Old friends was the impression he got. Maybe just acquaintances, wanting to be friendlier. They, like the rest of the patrons here, barely remembered the recent scuffle. Thousands of people crammed into one city and no one wanted to be a part of anyone else's business. There's a blend of selfishness and fear there. Via was right, dog eat dog indeed. He'd watched the greaseball half-crawl half-limp outside, knowing he'd be back. Can't show up a man in front of a whole bar without expecting some sort of visit, after all.

Hiems enjoyed the wine. He enjoyed being invisible in a room full of people. No one cared about him and he gave them no reason to. He silently took part in everyone's conversations, listening to their days, their dreams and hopes. The more they drank the easier they flowed. His own glass was almost empty. Another one? Perhaps not. It'd be a waste of good drink when the entertainment for the evening arrived. No canaries in this joint and you didn't sling back red like a whiskey. Some things were unacceptable.

A hushed waved of silence rolled around the room from the doorway as the slime returned. He didn't return alone. Predictable. The two at the bar both turned and gave them the once over, chatted jovially, and gave them more attention. Stop a girl from ending up in a rancid motel room and the punks think they can justify that with force? Hiems was not surprised. He would be if the two at the bar got roughed up, the woman didn't seem like she'd wilt and it gave her friend an opportunity to be a closer friend. Time to go though.

Draining the last of the wine, Hiems stood up. He stood up too fast, causing the stool to tip back and clack on the floor, drawing more attention to the brewing storm. Hurriedly putting the wine on the desk he patted down his suit, tried to make it neater but ended up making it worse. Pulled his hat down tighter and went for the door, both hands out. Innocent. No threat. The group were still in front of the door, and saw him coming. They saw him stumble over his own feet and half fall in front of them. Hiems made the mistake of grabbing onto one to stop his fall. More annoyed than angry, the heavy hoisted him up and gave him a look. Hiems looked back, eyes darting quickly between the face and the door way. He only cared about his safety. The doorway he was promptly thrown into. It took two tries before he got through clean, and into the fresher air.

It was a block later before he pulled out the two wallets, relieved them of cash and a few other trinkets, and dumped them in the gutter. A few bucks to the bum nearby got him a drunken salute and Hiems headed off to the small room he slept in. The two at the bar would have no trouble, he knew that for certain, now. Shame the thugs picked the wrong spot for the fight. Should have waited until they left. Vengeance is one thing, but wrecking a man's business and stopping a patron's evening? Poor form. But who could blame them? They'd been wronged. They were out for trouble. Adrenaline coursing through as they got ready to hand out some personal justice and nothing else mattered.

Perhaps if they'd taken the time to assess the situation, they'd have chosen better. That would have been smart. Now they stood to lose a tooth or two and spend a night in the cells. Someone would have a copper in their pocket along the line. Guess they weren't paying attention.

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Zo grinned back, downing her drink before standing up. 

There is always a first time for everything. 

She turns to look at him, the confidence in her eyes revealing a hint of nervousness. 

You know, you don't have to fight with me... I wouldn't want to cause you harm just because you feel obligated...

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Keats straightened himself to his full height, a little over six feet, and straightened his tie as the other men steadily approached. He glanced at Zo reproachfully.

Zo, I've read far too many chivalrous books to just run away. My library would never forgive me. Besides, these guys don't exactly seem like Achilles or Beowulf to me. 

As the distance narrowed, the biggest guy- the one Zo had taken by surprise earlier- lurched forward and swung wildly at Keats. The young man was able to duck under the blow and push the puncher to the ground using the man's own momentum. Keats than managed to connect a solid punch to the face of one of the two henchman before getting tackled against the bar by the third guy. Grunting in pain, Keats managed to grab a bottle and smash it over the man's head- dropping him to the ground and out of the fight. As Keats untangled himself from the now unconscious attacked, he noticed the other henchman headed towards Zo as the big one picked himself up off the ground, fury in his eyes.

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Zo picked up her purse from her chair and swung it around to wack the henchman in the head, he reels back only to quickly grab Zo into a chokehold from behind. She stabs his foot with her heel, then shoves two fingers up below his chin. He lets go, allowing her to then twist around punch him in the throat. 

She then turns to see the original guy right behind her, going towards Keats, and she elbows him right between his shoulder blades. He lurches forward, almost into Keats and turns to face her. She panics, and tries to grab the bar stool before she is punched in the face with the bronze knuckles. Zo trips to the side, taking  a moment to spit out some blood "gracefully" into the empty beer glass, before trying to stand upright again. Was it just her, or was the word just a little bit tilted to the right?

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Keats saw Zo lurch to her side as she absorbed the hit from the bronze knuckles and his mouth opened slightly with surprise. He'd seen plenty of boys get punched, but he'd never seen a woman take a shot like that. Perhaps it was sexist, but it just seemed wrong to him. Starting to boil with anger, Keats charged the assailant and drove his shoulder into the other man's back. He heard a satisfying crunch from the impact and the thug, thrown a few feet forward, dropped to the floor once again, hand outstretched on the ground with the bronze knuckles reflecting a nearby lamp. Narrowing his eyes, Keats took a couple steps forward and brought the heel of his show down on the man's hand. He then dropped to a knee as the man shouted in pain.

Reaching behind his back and removing his knife from its scabbard, Keats held it a few inches from the man's face.

"I don't think you'll be punching anyone in the near future. Might have to cut those knuckles off you since your real ones are starting to swell. I don't want to see you around here anymore. I don't want to hear about you hitting another woman, ever. Now if your legs are working... get the fuck out of here before I have to use this thing."

Sliding the knife into the scabbard behind his back once again, Keats watched as the man scurried away. Keats then made his way over to Zo to check on her.

"You okay? I think we need to go find you a doctor."

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The world seemed to become foggy as Zo tried to focus. She thinks she saw a man fall to the ground, but she isn't sure if it was Keats or the other one. Eventually the victor approaches her and Zo starts to panic. She is starting to get the knife out of her purse when she finally realized it was Keats. He asks if she is okay, and she couldn't quite catch the rest, something about a doctor? Doctors aren't part of the plan.

Nooo doc-torrs she slurrs, before practically falling into him.

Okayyyy maybe doctttors. She struggles to regain balance, and ends up just leaning on Keats's shoulder.

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He heard a bunch of commotion going on in a nearby bar and wanted to see what was inside, but as always with most buildings around the world, they seemed to hold a strict no birds policy-- almost as if they didn't even notice the tiny suit and cap he wore. Being dashing was apparently not all one needed to be considered part of the civilized community, and his loud hooting tendencies probably didn't help with his situation very much. 

"Sorry, birdo, but we can't start lettin' in creatures, ya know?"

"DO YOU NOT KNOW WHO I AM? I AM THE ALMIGHTY. I AM THE GODKING."

"Huh? Never heard of yous. Sorry, pal. It's cool that you can talk though, ain't ever seen that before."

The bartender was clearly deranged. Just as he figured he'd take his business elsewhere is the precise moment he noticed that one of the patrons was Zo, his very own crew member. Now he had to get in, he couldn't look bad in front of his associates, even if they were currently getting beat up in a good old fashion bout of fisticuffs. So his plan was hatched. He would get in the old fashioned way.

"FINE. TENDER OF BARS, THIS IS NOT THE LAST YOU'VE SEEN OF THE GODKING."

"Yeah okay..."

He didn't seem convinced. Huffing and puffing his way to one of his many storage lockers around the Americas, he opened up the large winding door and went inside. After a few moments of rather loud sounds, the Owl finally extracted exactly what he was looking for... his tiny cannon that had never let him down before. Pulling it outside he then drove back to the bar.

"IT IS TIME."

Ramming the tiny helmet onto his head with the passion of nine million suns he hopped his way into the cannon and set the match ablaze. It was in this moment he could not go back, upon lighting the rather long fuse he watched as it spiraled downward. Looking straight ahead he flashed to himself a wicked grin. He was going to be legendary. The bar would never forget his name. He was a God among men. He was a revolutionary. He would never waver in th-

*BOOM*

It was in this moment he remembered he was a bird. Damn. Too late to go back now.

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee."

Destination: Reached. Sure, he smashed through a window and yeah he'd feel the pain for a few weeks, but that wasn't the point. The feathery fiend had bested the bar and could now look impressive to Zo, that is, until he watched from upside down, Zo and Keats leaving the bar. Talking about a hospital of all places.

"Hospital doesn't... doesn't sound like a bad idea..."

Slouching down into what he assumed was his own blood. The Owl waited for his bones to reconnect so that he could stand back up and join in on what he assumed was much excitement. 

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Zo is really starting to get concerned about herself. Did a bird just crash through the window? She wanted to ask Keats, but she is pretty sure opening her mouth won't end pretty. 

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Keats heard some sort of commotion coming from behind him, but wasn't precisely sure what it was. After a quick glance over his shoulder to confirm there weren't any more men looking to attack them, Keats continued slowly walking with Zo's arm draped over his shoulder. Supporting her weight, he made his way along the sidewalk until he reached an open cab. Hailing the driver, Keats opened the rear door and gently helped lower his friend onto the seat. Sitting next to her, he directed the driver.

"I need to get to the nearest doctor. And there's some extra cash in it for you if you can find a- uh, private one who doesn't ask questions."

Several minutes passed as they drove through the streets. Occasionally Keats thought he saw a strange bird outside, but whenever he blinked it was gone. Perhaps he'd gotten his bell rung during the fight as well. Zo was leaning back against the seat, her face starting to bruise, but with only a small cut on her cheekbone. Keats was more worried about the grogginess- she seemed to be fading in and out. Didn't seem too severe or threatening, but better safe than sorry.

After arriving at their destination, Keats handed the driver a wad of cash and helped Zo outside and around the back of a building, where a squirrelly looking man furtively let them in, stammering "Uh- quick look, but she can't stay overnight. 4 hours max, I've got to be out before dawn. Everything in cash." Keats nodded as he helped Zo lie down on some sort of examination table as the doctor checked out her injuries.

"So- how is she, doc?"

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Zo mainly focused on staying awake during the taxi ride. Of course, every time she opened her eyes she wanted to throw up. Time seemed to slow down, and all she could feel was a pounding in her head. Eventually she realized they had stopped, and she struggled to get out of the car, with large assistance from Ke... Keith? No that can't be right. It was.... Keeeeee..... Keats! Keats.

They go into a bright room and Zo squeezes her eyes shut again. She lies down on the table and feels someone's hands on her face. The nerve! She squints open one eye and notices a man in a labcoat. Must be a doctor. A squirrel doctor. He pokes around her face and neck and shines a light into her eyes (which was it's own form of torture) before turning back to Keats.  

She has sustained a pretty severe concussion. Luckily, no damage has happened to her spine, so I would just give her some advils for headaches and monitor her for the next 24 hours to make sure she doesn't go into a coma. Do you know anyone who can do that?

Zo groans. She couldn't catch everything that was being said, but she definitely heard concussion. Why did she get so cocky? Whatever the case, she needed to get this sorted out stat. No way was she going to let someone she was associated with fuss over her for a week. They would never respect her again! She struggles to swing her legs over the side of the table and stands up.

I cann managgggeeee on my own. Donnttthhhh worry

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Keats listened to the doctor, relieved that there wouldn't be any permanent damage. Listening intently to the instructions, he nodded.

"I don't think it's wise for you to be alone. Is there a HQ you want me to drop you off at? Another associate's place? A bar or a business with a friend? Or I could stick around for a day to look after you if you have a place around here? My fault you took such a hit, after all. What do you want to do?""

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Zo groaned to herself

No friendssss.. And uhh don't want to be fixed overrrr by my assoccciatesss. Just take me back to my place, I'll be fine... See?

As to prove her point Zo tried to nonchalantly walk towards Keats, only to stumble into the doctor instead

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