Post by BEX on Nov 26, 2011 6:45:52 GMT -5
[[OOC: I didn’t really know what to do since you guys wanted the setting to be close the GD pirates…not much room given that the first island is the place their at. Anyway I thought I’d set up the thread during the time of the rebellion against Selethen…or whatever his name is (not gonna look at 6 in the morning). Basically kind of a social thread unless you guys wanna make it an action one. Hope ya enjoy…oh, and make as many story twists as you like.]]
“How many slugs was that kid?”
Maxwell simply groaned as his cheek pressed into the stubborn oaken slab of a desk. The tavern he had drunk in during the Imperial rebellion headed by a few pirates went on without him and whilst fighting grew to a deafening pitch outside he’d weaseled his way into the only bar in town that still remained open. ‘The Winking Skeever’ certainly wasn’t the prettiest place in town to drown one’s sorrows in a haze of intoxication, but given that it still served drinks showed the balding man had some amount of pride…or was simply greedy. In all actuality there was a homey feel to the place. The frequently polished stairwell leading to the upstairs was chipped from years of overuse and there were knots in chairs and table legs as if some men were trying to make their mark to be remembered by in the annals of history. In its own small way it was a majestic place and the owner, a tubby dinner roll of a fellow was quite enamored with it—as he should be given all his beri had gone into upkeeping the place and the local lending facility threatened to take it and every last shred of his belongings if he didn’t pay his deductible by the end of the year.
Blasted fools didn’t understand that pirates and the like were ruining everything. Maybe that was why old Finnegan was usually a salty piece of tanned leather so tough it was said that he spat in the faces of pregnant women and beat the blind like he was in a boxing match. A toothless wonder it was always something of a miracle when he managed to form words with those cracked lips, yet there was keenness in the lone real eye he possessed. A sort of intuitive intelligence that anyone who spent enough time gazing into pale blue orb might deduce that he had once been a politician or something close. Maybe he had been a favored actor from the province of Alabasta, the home of the nefarious Princess Vivi or perhaps he was actually a wanted buccaneer himself from the New World.
It was that mysterious shroud that drew customers time and time again. Natives and tourists alike heard ghost stories about the man who strapped a peg leg between the two perfectly functioning leg just so he could pretend to be a chair on the days when business was slow. That sort of behavior made Finnegan the talk of the people—when the self proclaimed Emperor wasn’t imposing taxes enough to make babes scream in their cribs, but that wasn’t Maxwell Escobaur’s concern. A powerfully built man well into his twenties as evidenced by the unshaven whiskers sprouting stubbornly from his chin; he had never been able to stymie the invasion of his handsome visage for very long so he simply stopped trying. “This tin’s damn cold, old man.” he commented drily as yet another boom of anarchy shook the foundation of the bar and him along with it. Good thing he wasn’t in-between sips. For the first time since yesterday eve when he’d rolled into town on a small skippy boat, it was best not to ask why such a vessel was being used in the Grandline, but he’d come in with nothing save for the clothes on his back and strong penchant for violence when he stumbled into the ‘Winking Skeever’ and cleared out a good ten to twenty drunks in his famished state.
Not the sort to give thanks he offered the older Escobaur, his brother being some high class noble by now, two days worth of drinks for free. The second day had already come upon them when the deal was struck, but it was alright for Maxwell was an easy going man who simply wanted the romantic rosy tomorrow. At least it had seemed possible to find it for two days as long as his mouth remained numb and his thoughts swirled dizzily in his head thanks to the combination of whiskey and bourbon mixed in with a few shots of the finest spirits this side of…wherever the hell he was. Just then a woman rudely burst into the bar with something wrapped in swaddling cloth, “Dammit woman!” Finnegan started, but paused momentarily when he saw Maxwell grimace unpleasantly. Drinking while hungover wasn’t one his more finely concocted plans.
“Please, Finnegan. Let us stay here while the riots is still going on. Please, I have a baby!” she cried shrilly.
A perfect opening for a heroic line from the slouched over, half conscious wandering drunk. And he took it. To some extent.
“HEEEEH?! YOU WANNA SHOW ME YOUR BOOBIES?!” he exclaimed in earnest surprise—until he fell from his stool and found himself looking up the somewhat confused faces of the mother, the baby now peeping out from its cocoon to see the cause of the noise and Finnegan. “Hey…Hey…is your name by chance Crystale, like the champagne?” he asked with surprising alacrity of the tongue while pointing at the woman. Her look to Finnegan was hopeful as if the senile sea barnacle might be able to decipher the archaic lingo at play, but her hopes were dashed when all she caught from the old man was ashen look of pure discontent; he wanted her and her child out as much as she wanted to be in his bar.
Deciding to take a chance since the longer she conversed with a drunk in a bar, the more likely she was going to be allowed to stay inside the bar and away from the chaos going on outside, “Ummm…no?”
“You sure? You look sexy enough to be a stripper…especially for a woman you’re a—Oof!” Maxwell’s statement had come to an abrupt end courtesy of the protective, high moral standing, and apparently attractive mother’s foot. “Owie…”
The woman, thoroughly vexed and more than flushed with enough red to make a tomato feel jealous shot a stern look at Finnegan who took a step back; even he agreed that the boy had gone too far with that last outburst, “I take it you don’t want me to tell whatever is left of the town after things have settled that you’re a womanizing pervert that condones this sort of behavior so I guess I’m staying. Hmph!” she huffed angrily before making her way to a quiet corner to nurse her baby in that way that only mothers could. Max slowly reached towards Finnegan with pain written in bold letters across his face,
“Help…me…”
“If you’re gonna die, then die quietly-keep my floor as clean as possible. I’ll make sure to use what’s left of ya’s for my dogs' leftovers.” the old man replied gruffily before he too stormed off in the direction of his upstairs room.
Such a cold, cold world he lived in.
