MARCH UPDATE

POSTED ON Jun 16, 2021 6:20:57 GMT

The taste of cheap bourbon faded from his tongue like a far-off memory. He swished the bronze liquor and ice around in his glass. Distant orbs of purple stared, watching frozen cubes clink with a bored expression.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd had downtime. A week off from his duties to get familiar with the region.

This was a chance to breathe, take in the world and see what it had to offer.

Slow down, smell the roses.

Apparently, they still hadn't learned that he didn't do slow.

The bar was surprisingly empty for a Friday night. With the tournament going on, he'd expected places like this to be packed. Then again, this one didn't give off the best vibe.

It was dark, dank, and reeked of stale cigarettes and beer. The type of place you went if you were looking for trouble.

And he was.

@open

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Wayland

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Twenty-Eight

March Twenty-First

Vermillion City

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POSTED ON Jun 16, 2021 8:36:50 GMT

[nospaces]

[attr="class","king"]

A SHITTY BAR IN SLATEPORT...[break]

[attr="class","setting"]

[break]
this tournament was a cesspit of talentless shit for brains that think they had an inkling for fighting. half of the little shits couldn't wipe their ass without assistance, much less actually coordinate a battle properly. the entire affair had his mood declining sharply. and where did one go when they wanted to cheer-up?
[break][break]
he nearly kicks open the door to the poorly lit hole-in-the-wall bar as he stomps inside.
[break][break]
"arceus fuck, did someone piss themselves in 'ere?"
[break][break]
his face peels back in disgust, but he doesn't stop his momentum. he finds a seat at the bar, next to a particularly sad sack.
[break][break]
"is your liquor gonna taste like piss too? get me a glass of tequila."
[break][break]
he thinks for a moment.
[break][break]
"nah fuck that, gimme the whole bottle."
[break][break]

[attr="class","credit"]milky

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[break]
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POSTED ON Jun 16, 2021 11:20:50 GMT

It doesn't take long for something foul to come barging in. It's a bad-mouthed thug with no manners and a sense of entitlement the size of a Snorlax.

The man's belligerent, commenting on the smell like his own shit didn't stink. It's why Onyx couldn't be more delighted when of all the seats in the bar, it's next to him, he chooses to sit.

The rim of his glass grazes his mouth, but he stops short of an actual drink. His lips part to whisper a sarcastic jab in a deep, silky voice.

"Heh, and I thought Primeape had a temper problem."

KING WAYLAND

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Wayland

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Vermillion City

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POSTED ON Jun 16, 2021 17:38:55 GMT

[nospaces]

[attr="class","king"]

A SHITTY BAR IN SLATEPORT...[break]

[attr="class","setting"]

[break]
he barely gets the glass halfway to his mouth with an entitled piece of garbage decides to express their opinion. not that king, or anyone else in this shit-hole had asked for it.[break][break] but hey, it was his right after all.
[break][break]
just as it was king's right to have this dude sucking air through a dislocated jaw.
[break][break]
he turns to the man, a smug look curling onto his lip. was he enjoying his own joke? pathetic.
[break][break]
"my hearin' must be going out. i coulda' sworn i heard yer ass say something to me. which couldn't be right."
[break][break]
he grins, pulling his lips back into something ferocious— animalistic.
[break][break]
"because then i'd have to force feed ya' this here tequila bottle."
[break]

[attr="class","credit"]milky

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POSTED ON Jun 16, 2021 18:21:04 GMT

KING WAYLAND likes this

As expected, it didn't take much to provoke the proverbial Ursaring. No matter the region, the predictability of scum never changed. Always ready to lash out at the first person to challenge all that bravado.

Onyx disregards the man's threat with a chuckle. He doesn't even bother to look away from his glass.

"Your hearings fine."

He's louder, speaking to the man like he would a troublesome child. A confident grin on his lips, Onyx shoots back his drink. The bourbon goes down fast and hard, but he barely notices the sting.

The tension is palpable in the air as Onyx stands, pushing aside his barstool when he does.

"It's a shame about your nose, though."

A Persian against a Rattata, he pounces without warning. His glass flies from his hand, flung toward the ceiling to distract. In the same breath, he closes the brief distance between them with his fist. All the skill of a Hitmonchan packed into a sucker punch straight to the face.

KING WAYLAND

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Wayland

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Vermillion City

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POSTED ON Jun 16, 2021 18:43:19 GMT

[nospaces]

[attr="class","king"]

A SHITTY BAR IN SLATEPORT...[break]

[attr="class","setting"]

[break]
"thank fuckin' arceus. i was itchin' to stretch."
[break][break]
he pushes the barstool back in a much more controlled motion. where onyx thought he was the persian, king knew he was.
[break][break]

how many dimly lit bars has he shed blood in at this point?
[break][break]

how many jaws were missing teeth from the impact of his fist?
[break][break]

how many cocky shit-bags have announced their attack before they do it? add another fucker to this list.
[break][break]

while king's expression is more barbaric than most, his approach to a fight is anything but. it's methodical. years of hand-to-hand combat with a lucario and blaziken embeds itself like a memory into his body.
[break][break]

when onyx's fist comes towards him, he simply shifts his body while reaching out to grab his forearm, a simple tugging motion alongside the stranger's own inertia, and onyx is somersaulting over him and onto his back, groveling on the dirty floor like the weedle he was.

[break]
@onyx

[attr="class","credit"]milky

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POSTED ON Jun 18, 2021 3:45:10 GMT

The declaration had been for King's benefit. If things were easy, Onyx would be wasting his time. He wants the challenge, the rush. When a cheap blow and piss-poor distraction prove ineffective, he's pleased.

Reaching for his forearm leaves King grasping at air. A tuck and roll that creates distance between them but hits Onyx with a headrush. On his feet again, he spins back around on his heels.

Adrenaline pumps through his veins like lava down a volcano. Slow and steady. He's ready to go, make another move - throw another punch. A disgruntled bar owner stops him in his tracks.

"The fuck are you two doing? This is a bar, not a fucking boxing ring."

The sound of a shotgun pumping makes for an obvious threat.

"Take it outside before I blast you both full of lead."

Onyx waits, watching to see what King will do.

KING WAYLAND

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Wayland

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Twenty-Eight

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Vermillion City

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Should I bite my tongue, until blood soaks my shirt?

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POSTED ON Jun 20, 2021 6:49:22 GMT

[nospaces]

[attr="class","king"]

A SHITTY BAR IN SLATEPORT...[break]

[attr="class","setting"]

[break]
king's lips pull back into a coy grin. to retreat was to lose. even if it was just a few feet. he reaches for the bottle atop the bar, feeling the bitter rush of... whiskey? it burned his throat going down, but he savored it. a hand went automatically to the large scar on his chest, as if confirming it were true.

he was alive.
[break][break]

out of the corner of his eye he looks at the gun-wielding barkeep. he reaches out for the barrel of the weapon, placing it against his forehead.
[break][break]

"fuckin' do it ye cunt."
[break][break]

where once was a firm, unyielding resolve stands the indecisiveness of confusion. king feels the slightest tremble, as the barrel of the gun shakes against his skin. he recognized the reason clear as day. it flowed through his veins right now, though, to a lesser degree.
[break][break]

adrenaline.
[break][break]

"god-damned coward. next time don't threaten— just fuckin' do it."
[break][break]

he turns to the stranger. the one whose ass the bartender probably saved.

[break][break]

"still interested in runnin' yer mouth or are you gonna let a man fuckin' drink?"

[break]
@onyx

[attr="class","credit"]milky

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