2940/Pool Party

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Pool Party
Date of Scene: 16 August 2020
Location: Josie's Bar
Synopsis: A full-on bar brawl breaks out at Josie's while Johnny Blaze and Tara Markov are present. Violence ensues--as does fun, somehow.
Cast of Characters: Johnny Blaze, Tara Markov




Johnny Blaze has posed:
It's a typical Saturday night at Josie's--meaning half the crowd is drinking itself into a scowl-faced stupor, while the other half is rowdy and looking to make trouble.

All night, the perfect storm for violence has been forming, and the cold front that sets it off is a sloppy-drunk biker who stumbles backward into one of the pool players /just/ as said player is trying to sink a tricky shot, causing the cue to jump the eight-ball off the table.

"Ha!" the player's opponent says.

The player breaks his cue against the table, turning it into an impromptu truncheon. "You son of a--" the player says, swinging as he turns around. The cue smashes into the drunk's temple, knocking him out cold. Unfortunately, the rest of his biker crew notices, and they grab whatever they can to take their retribution on ... well, anyone who might help the aggrieved pool player.

One of the nearest victims of the outburst of violence is a haggard-looking man in leathers. He takes a stool to the back, sending him careening into a nearby table.

Tara Markov has posed:
Guilt was a hell of a thing. The one friend that Tara could at least find in this part of the world, she ditched tried and true. And the one thing that guilt would allow her to do?

Go to some random bar to get drunk.

Regardless of the legal age or not; Tara has many ID's to cover that fact. Tons of gift cards that could be cashed in for favors, money or actual favors to get herself a little bit of brown liquor to pass the day away. It was either that or a bit of cocaine, or maybe a few mollies or X..

Which leads her to now; settled into that nearby table, one leg up, watching everything go down. Whiskey on the rocks, glass was probably dirty and she probably asked for it but it definitely hit the spot. Just as that poor guy in leathers, hitting the spot upon her table, Tara quickly drawing her leg back as the table itself and the man flip over ass up, which draws her into a laugh. "You poor fool.." She barks out, putting her foot against the man to nudge/push him out of the way so that she could continue to enjoy the show.

Johnny Blaze has posed:
The table-flipper rolls over onto his back, groaning as he blinks a few times. "What'd I--" he begins, before one of the burlier bikers kicks him in the stomach. He exhales in a rush of air.

The bar's mostly erupted into an explosive affair--anything that's not nailed down, and about half of what is, becomes an improvised weapon to try and beat the living hell out of 'the enemy' in this battle of the biker gang (whose vests identify them as THE BRAINEATERS MC) vs. anyone else in the joint.

Some of the pool players throw balls--at least one with incredible accuracy that crushes the target's nose, blood spraying out like he had ketchup packets stuffed in his nostrils.

Another plastered patron tries to rip a 'love tester' machine out of its bolts, but he does so by the handle; he's unsuccessful, the machine only responding by revealing his grip is that of a 'cold fish'.

The sounds of a brawl even echo out from the bathroom, complete with an accompanying flush of victory ... or defeat.

The man near Tara's feet wheezes, his assailant having been elbowed in the throat by some other angry patron. "Be--be careful. Lots of ... bad types here tonight," he tries to chuckle through bloody teeth.

Tara Markov has posed:
It was complete and total mayhem, one would consider it luck that she came at a time she did. She hasn't smiled for days. In fact, she just wandered. No one to talk to, nothing to see but boredom...

This? This is the stuff that her dreams were made of. Chaos in pure form, the beauty of liquor and bodily--

"Look out!" Someone cries, which gives her enough notice to duck a bottle that splatters near the ground of the fallen.. kicked and elbowed man.

"Shit that was close." She manages to say, twisting a bit within her chair. She looks all around her and back towards the bloodied man with a wrinkled nose.

"Honey. I -am- the bad type." She confesses, but leans down to hold out her hand to try to help them up. He had a disposition that she liked, and not that she wanted to help out, she feels that he had enough.

And he probably had money.

"Listen, I can clear this entire joint out in about.." She glances around, her hand reaching up to try to place at the back of the man's neck to get him to duck, attempting to usher him towards another area of the bar.. at least one that isn't too terribly in the way of damage. In her mind, it'll be The Braineaters MC & Pedestrians vs Tara Markov. And she was fine with that. "..two minutes! Maybe three! If it takes five then we're just going to drop the bet and take a crate of top shelf. What do you say?"

And all she ever needed was a reason to be a bad egg.

Johnny Blaze has posed:
"Thanks," the man mutters, standing slowly thanks to Tara's assistance efforts. "Sounds like a--" a pitcher smashes against the back of his head, draft beer spraying everywhere. The man stumbles, diving past Tara against the nearest wall--the only thing that keeps him from crumpling back onto the floor.

"BRAINEATERS!" a biker standing on the bar shouts, pouring liquor all over the bartop. Someone else has a lighter, and soon there's a fiery runway for the biker on the bar to dance, goofily, until he slips and falls behind the bar, his pants aflame. Obscenities burst forth like fully automatic gunfire from his lips.

The bartender, meanwhile, is wrestling for his shotgun with another member of the Braineaters. The former headbutts the latter, who in turn seems completely unfazed--even grinning at the attempt. "Well, shit," the bartender sighs.

A few feet away, a female patron with a fistful of darts slams them point-first into the side of a biker's neck. The counter-attack is a scream and a wild haymaker, flinging the dart-wielder into the jukebox. It begins playing "Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting." A hipster-looking youth nearby rolls her eyes. "A little on-the-nose, don't you think?" she says to no one in particular.

Tara Markov has posed:
The smashed pitcher took her by surprise; Tara whirls around and lands a punch to the pitcher-smashing man. Tara, now covered with beer, looks back to the tattered man, not even bothering to help him up, figuring him being down was all the more better.

"Son of a.." Another bottle flies through the air, this time smacking Tara right against her temple. She staggers and trips over a body, falling in the process. IT was.. okay. So Tara was slipping. Slipping so much that she didn't see another someone else take a tumble over the bodies which lands their head into her lap. "Hi."

And now she was sliding back, bottom and top covered with beer, her hair a mess, quite possibly sliding in pee or blood.. or a mix of both with shots of beer to add flavor. The music adds to the havoc, and right when Tara's back touches the wall another bottle is flying, smashing above her head, raining more liquor down upon it. Now she was upset!

"Alright, fuck it!" She shouts out to no one in particular.

Whether there be mutants, aliens, meta-humans in the bar that could possibly stop her, she didn't care. But she did have sense enough to hide both of her eyes as she plants one hand upon the ground, summoning the will to localize enough of the dormant faults beneath the bar to cause it to dance with the music.

Yes, the house was shaking. Or the bar.. which is technically some peoples house. The shake wasn't mild, but noticible enough to at least cause a mild level of panic.

Johnny Blaze has posed:
"EARTHQUAAAAAAKE!" someone screams, loudly enough to carry over the absolute din of the bar fight.

Some of the brawling continues--but much of it is abandoned in favor of self-preservation. Most of the Braineaters rush out the front door, grabbing whatever they can without slowing down.

Many of the non-biker patrons do the same, while others hunker down under tables or in the bathroom.

The bartender, in control of the shotgun as his opponent suddenly shoves him back before sprinting out the door, runs around to try and shout at the fleeing brawlers.

The haggard man near Tara reaches down to her armpit to try and tug her up, although he seems to have trouble actually moving her. "Damn, you're tougher than you look," he says, his legs shaking as he tries to stand upright. "But now's your chance, while Lou's out front. Not, uh, that I'd recommend the risk..."

Tara Markov has posed:
Tara didn't want to topple the building, that would cause some unneeded attention and right now? She didn't want to be public enemy number 1 among the drunken population of the area. Or any area.

The man tries to haul her up, and right on time. As soon as she feels a human touch, she eases up on shaking the ground, one foot planted upon the ground to push against the wall as he tugs and pulls, aiding his efforts.

"Sorry, I thought you were trying to kill me!" She nearly shrieks out, "I don't know who Lou is but.." If he was going to tug her out of a 'dangerous' place, she was willing to go to make sure no one knew that it was her.

Johnny Blaze has posed:
"Yeah, yeah," the man says, hurriedly. "Coast looks clear enough for the moment, at least. Let's take advantage of it." He pulls the woman along with one hand, leaning over the bar for a moment to grab a bottle with the other.

Then, he heads out the front door, letting go of his impromptu companion. "Have a good one, Lou," the man says.

"Alright, Johnny," the shotgun-wielding bartender says, turning to go back inside. "Don't get too fucked up out there. You either, miss."

Once things look clear enough, the man takes a swig of the bottle. He immediately grimaces, eyeing it. "Jeppson's Malort," he mumbles. "Shit. You, uh, want this?"

The bottle is offered like it's a used diaper.

Tara Markov has posed:
While he's leaning over the bar, Tara looks back, one hand reaching out in all dramatics as she spies something -really- good to take along with them..

..and never gets it!

As they make it through to the front door, Tara's released hand shakes free, both hands planting upon her knees as she takes in a huff. She smells like pure hell. Getting too fucked up? Yeah, she just might need to.

The held out bottle was taken, and she takes a deep swig of it. No matter the proof or the taste, she was going to have it. All liquor tastes bad, unless there's some sort of juice involved. "Blech.." She manages out, attempting to take a step before a case of the 'willies' hit her. That particular feeling where hard liquor hits the nerves and you have to shake it or 'woo' it out.

"So ah.. looks like you're good and all.." She says after her minor fit, wiggling the bottle in his direction. "Want some weed?"

Johnny Blaze has posed:
The man shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "No ... I mean, yeah, I do, but ..." He glances over his shoulder. "I don't think I'd be able to enjoy it tonight. Gonna have one hell of a headache before too long here, I think."

He offers a thin, pained smile, and points at the bottle. "All yours. Thanks for trying to help me out in there. For a second, I figured you were gonna join in and knock my teeth out. Next time I see you, I'll buy you a better drink. Promise."

Tara Markov has posed:
"Eh... suit yourself.." Not like Tara had that much to share, but she was willing.

"Yeeah, you didn't do anything but get knocked over the table. Listen.. Johnny was it? Name's Tara. And really.. you don't look like you could afford to buy me a drink but.. y'know, I can deal in a favor. Or favors. You good with that?"

Johnny Blaze has posed:
Johnny offers a bit of a grimace, his eyes narrowing. "Ehh ... yeah, I guess that can't be any worse than any other deals I've made in the past. You got a deal, Tara."

He lets his grimace soften and he extends a hand for a shake. "And you're probably right on the drink tip. But I'd still try to make it happen for you anyway. I--"

Johnny stops, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. "Sorry. Okay, Tara. Seems like I'll have to go a work bit earlier than I thought--that headache I mentioned. You stay safe, okay?"

He turns toward a motorcycle parked nearby, swinging a leg over it. "And, uh, watch out for any more bar fights. Or don't!" Johnny adds, kick-starting the cycle, "You don't have to listen to me."

Tara Markov has posed:
The extended hand was taken, her fingers wrapping around his to give a good grasp and movement. "Josie's eh.." She says, just to make a mental note because if she does actually need him, at least she'll know where to start looking. Not like she was making -plans- and all.

But it was curious. "Ah.. yeah I'll stay safe.." She says, releasing his hand, taking a step back with the bottle lifted towards him to give him a toast as he hops onto the bike. "I'll stay out of.. wait a minute!" She calls out. "What the hell type of job you have that gives you headaches on the fly?!" If he stays to answer, so be it, but she really wasn't looking for him to stop.

But damn was she curious..

Johnny Blaze has posed:
Backing up his motorcycle into the road, Johnny pauses for a moment, looking back at Tara. "I wouldn't recommend it," he calls out. "It's hell."

Then, his head bursts into flame, the skin and tissue flaking off of his face as the grinning skull beneath is revealed. At the same time, the tires of his bike catch fire, and the vehicle revs with a powerful growl of the engine.

The ghost rider points two fingers at his empty eye sockets and then points one toward Tara before the bike roars to life, racing down the street and leaving only a smell of hot asphalt in its wake.