tampered | (no subject)

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When; Late April 16th Early April 17th in the morning
Rating; pg-13, I guess
Characters; Theodred, Al Capone other casino workers.
Summary; It's late at night or really early in the morning and someone's getting a bit too rowdy at the bar and violence ensues.
Log;

An orc walks into a casino...

No. Wait. This happens after that.

It's late in the night or really early in the morning. That time of day when things are just fuzzy enough that no one really knows. The casino was winding down at least. Customers were drifting home and it was getting quiet.

The gentleman, for lack of a better word, had been drinking rather steadily all night. He'd been losing fairly steadily all night as well. Which really didn't help his temper any.

One might say that because he was a rather large and ugly fellow he of course had a hair pin trigger and surly temper, but that's stereotyping and people shouldn't do that.

Unfortunately, tonight the stereotype was true.

After losing spectacularly at Theo's table the orc pushed his way to the bar and slammed a fist on the table growling out the word "Beer!"

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The loud demand catches his attention, but it doesn't mean his response necessarily has to be quick. Al takes his time serving two more patrons before he acknowledges the man.

"Pay up for the last two, pal, and we'll see about that."

The sap's losing streak isn't exactly a secret around the bar-- some people are just born vocal.

"What happened to credit?" the orc growls.

His temper has not improved with the wait time.

"It's good for anybody who I think is good on their word to pay it back," his reply is dismissive and simple, even getting in a laugh before he moves to the other end of the bar. He's not inclined to trust this guy, therefore he sticks with his instinct to cut him off.

It's a nice power to have.

He looks across the casino floor to the tables, scoping out Theo with a look to suggest there would be more stories to tell at closing about one nutjob in particular.

Theo catches his eye and makes a head nod indicating that he's seen and understands. And then he makes a quick gesture with his hands indicating that Al should look behind him.

Why?

Because the orc is looming down on Al.

Oh. That explains the horrible smell, then. Al turns, glaring directly into the orc's eyes and finally giving him his full attention.

"Hey, pal, you wanna back up there?"

Otherwise there's a loaded handgun under the bar that is more than willing to make his acquaintance.

Oh. Yes. Loaded handguns are always good.

"Give me my drink!" he snarls.

Theo is watching and wondering where Jack is, just in case things get out of hand.

"I told you once, you're cut off," he's not about to reach for the weapon yet, but he does step forward and throw his wrist out in a dismissive gesture to back the orc up. Big drunks may have a lot of weight and courage, but fortunately more often than not they're stupid.

"Get outta here and save us all some time."

And the orc tightly grabs Al's wrist.

Yes. Stupid.

"No."

"Get your ugly mitts off me!" it's nearly incomprehensible, between his patience disappearing entirely and his true disgust at someone trying to muscle him around.

Thus he makes good use of his appendages that are free and slams as good of a kick as he can manage into one of the orc's shins.

Has Al ever kicked a wall before?

Because that's what it feels like kicking an orc.

Who now squeezes the man's wrist even more.

Well, that's enough to ruin his day. He holds back the wince as best he can and instead goes for the nearest thing he can find on the counter. The gun is well out of reach, but a bottle is enough of a temporary weapon. He smashes it with his free hand and makes a jab for the brute's face.

Theo's going to go look around for Jack... who doesn't appear to be around. He swears softly.

Meanwhile the orc bats the bottle out of Al's hand with a solid swipe. "Gimmie my drink!" And poor Al is going to get a full blow breath of orc in his face.

It smells like dead pickles and lemons.

The putrid odor is momentarily debilitating, but not enough for him to back down. No, he's got this and nobody is going to settle up with this guy but him.

Did you hear that, unhelpful patrons?

"I'll give you a drink," despite a woozy head and numbed leg and wrist, he spits straight at the orc's face hoping it will give him at least a moment to free himself.

There's a pause. A quiet, deadly pause as the orc's beady little eyes go red in anger.

And then there shall be a flying Al.

At this point, gaining a greater distance from the smell of this guy is a little victory in itself-- that's what he slams into a few chairs and hits the floor hard. By now most of the seats are empty, thankfully, and the few lingering members of the public have caught on and are entertaining their instincts to scatter.

Slowly, Al finds his feet. Now this guy is just pissing him off and his only chance is getting to that gun. The orc, meanwhile, has taken to helping himself remove the tap stopper and is drinking freely from the flow. When he sees the bartender approaching he laughs, a long stream of drool included, and starts hurling barstools out towards the game tables.

Theo's instincts,in the meantime, are to start skirting behind the orc. He tries to catch Al's attention to let him know that he's going to try something.

He knows about the gun and he doesn't think it'd be a good idea for Al to use it.

Al gives a nod of understanding, watching Theo carefully. Whatever his intentions may be, he'd personally rather have the weapon in hand. Although the orc may be built like a rock and have the sense of one, he'd rather be armed than the alternative.

The orc doesn't seem to mind either of their presences at first. It's having a fairly good time tossing chairs at vague targets until finally it runs out of wooden ammunition.

"This place is a ripoff!"

And down comes an entire wall of glasses from the cabinet behind him.

Theo is unarmed, or so it seems. When the glasses come down he gives a startled yelp.

His rats scatter, going leaping through the broken glass scurrying towards the orc's legs.

The loud crash merits a loud cackle from the orc. At least someone is getting some satisfaction out of this all. To celebrate his triumph, he starts to stomp his feet despite the broken glass.

"Hey!" Theo says. "You're going to have to pay for that."

His voice is quiet and not threatening, but definitely firm.

"Pay?"

The orc turns to find the source of the quiet voice before he nearly busts a gut laughing.

"You're going to make me, is that right?"

Meanwhile, Al is beginning to second-guess your plan, Theo.

Theo is, he admits, short. Meyer short. Shush. And he's gotten laughed at before, like this.

Looking up, Theo - with his eyes covered by his sunglasses - crosses his arms, says "Yes. I will."

He is not afraid of you orc.

You might want to be worried about this.

The orc snorts wetly, wiping its nose with the back of its hand to clear some remnants of its laughing fit.

"I could pick my teeth with you!" he stoops a bit, just to rub the height issue in.

"What the hell are you doing?" Al hisses lowly, gun clearly on display and aimed at the back of the orc's head.

Move, he mouths, jerking his head to the side as another indication. He's at least thoughtful of not wanting to crush a good acquaintance with a smelly corpse.

OH. Yes. Like he's not heard that a thousand times before.

"If a dragon can't pick its teeth with me, I doubt you can either," Theo says flatly. "Now, I'm asking nicely... leave."

There's a frown as the warning is overlooked and before the orc can growl out his reply, Al pulls the trigger. He figures Theo had his chance and this guy has thrown his weight around enough for the night.

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