Drinks and Dives [Mag/Buk]

[The Love Ballad]

-Mag Post #1-

The words left Mag's mouth before he could even stop to think about what he was saying, "Ye, fekkers, ahhh, how the fek is that even possible, I swear on me' own damn loife." The barrage of slurs and complaints left his mouth in a near endless stream of slurred speech, to the response of guttural laughs from the assortment of working men gathered around the table.

By all means, the bar was nothing to write home about, another working class pub in a relatively working class section of Orange Town. Filled with tradespeople and dock workers finishing up after yet another long day of menial labour. A faint orange glow funneled through the windows as sundown approached. Mag was sure that on a different night, with slightly different clientele, it would be far from the safest place to visit in the town. Naturally, that meant that the low-level street thug turned pirate was right at home. He'd spent his wayward youth gambling in pubs and dive-bars just like this one, of course the key difference was that he actually won back in those days.

"Awroi', awroi', let me just grab another drink and then ye' can let me win back me savin's, ay boys?" The North Blue native slurred,  as he rather slowly stood up from the table in the centre of the bar, pushing his way past the small crowd of onlookers surrounding the five, now four, seated men.

Mag rolled his back and neck as he approached the bar, audible cracks sounded from his shoulders. Wordlessly he put down some of his few remaining beris in exchange for a full pint of the piss that the establishment insisted was a lager. With a grunt of thanks, the lone pirate shuffled his way back to the table and flopped back onto his seat.

He was between jobs and broke, he'd left his last crew not three weeks back in hopes that a bigger and better gang with hopes of challenging the grand line would pass through Organ Island, so far they had not, and Mag had found himself drinking and gambling away in dive-bars much like this one for more than a fortnight. As if by magic, almost all of his hard-earned cash had burnt away, like paper in a bonfire. He was desperate for cash, and soon enough he'd have to go back to working some dead-end dock job until any other crew passed through looking for help.

"Roi'!" Mag exclaimed, "This is the las' of me cash, puttin' it all on odds!"

The small crowd around the table raised glasses and small cheer as he emptied out the small sack that contained the last few beris to his name.

The dealer grinned and rolled the die, and Mag could feel the sweat form rapidly on his brow.

Snake eyes.

Could this day get any worse?

[Smiley]

The life of banditism was hilariously easy in the East Blue when the bandit in question is a fishman of unquestionable strength and unparalleled sea speed, this speed including underwater. Even when he found himself overwhelmed in numbers on open seas, what he usually would do was grab one of the unconscious bodies, use it as a shield (shock value, just to earn one crucial second of time), leap into the sea with all the loot and quite literally blast out of the place. Then, once he had evaded them entirely, he'd pop up in one of the slightly more distant islands, spend that money like some sort of philanthropic Messiah, go back to sea and repeat.

Today, Bucket had done the exact same with a merchant ship, one that he found to be quite the one full of loot, even though it was unmarked - a sign that it was very much illegal. Not caring about the fools he might be stealing from, Bucket took it all and rushed away from that place without missing a beat, now with a bag full of Beri on tow. All the way to Orange Island, a place he thought would be perfectly suitable to lay low for a day or two and spend his money. 

Getting there in good time, the giant fishman came out of the sea with the bag full of loot, taking into a full sprint almost right away, directly at the shifty pub that he had come to enjoy quite a lot. He was quite noisy too, screaming the entire way until he barged in, his distant screaming growing ever closer until that moment where he burst in, threw the bag at the barman who almost got smashed with it and screamed.

"I GOT LOOT! DRINKS ON ME BOYS!" Bucket announced proudly, immediately demanding a barrel of grog, since a big man like him drank alcohol by the barrels, not by the mugs.

[The Love Ballad]

-Mag Post #2-

Mag felt ill, his body felt immensely hot and cold all at once, and he didn't know how he was supposed to react. He was, once again, completely and utterly broke. He couldn't even drink anything, that would require money, oh woe had befallen him.

"Fek!" He let out tumultuous yell as he swept his hands across the table, sending the dice flying off into a far-off corner of the pub.

All that greeted him was the sound of uproarious laughter from all around him. He was a twice-damned laughingstock and he wanted to stab someone. How dare they laugh at him? How could he be so stupid to waste all his money on drink and dice? He was supposed to be finding his way to the grand line, not lingering longer in another forsaken shit-hole without a name.

"Ye're a fekin'-" Mag started to yell at the dealer, but found the words caught in his throat by the gradually growing sound of a deep yell.

The pirate turned his head as if by instinct, his left hand quickly reaching for one of the many knives he had hidden under his shirt. The weapons strapped to his bare chest to avoid suspicion. What happened next seemed to occur all at once, the door of the pub flew open to reveal a behemoth of a man. Mag and two of the other gamblers were on their feet at once, the other two gentlemen reaching for pistols. Only for all of that fear and apprehension to disappear in a single instant at the bold declaration, by what was ever-so-obviously a fishman, that drinks were coming, and they were free. As if at once, half of Mag's troubles faded away, he may be broke but at least he could drink those sorrows away!

The wild cackle that emanated from the redheaded thug's mouth was the second loudest sound in the establishment after the barman's pained scream. As if he had become a a giddy schoolgirl in an instant, the already quite drunk, man was over by the bar. In yet another instant, he had forced himself in next to the man who had made one hell of an entrance. Seeing that the fishman was ordering a barrel, a twice-darned barrel, Mag quickly found himself laughing even harder in his own throaty way.

"Oi'll 'ave what he's having!" Mag exclaimed loudly, if the drinks were free, god dammit he'd get his money's worth, ironic as that was, "Oi have to show 'im that not one soul on this whole sea can even dare to match me drink for drink!"

Mag gave a big toothy grin at the newcomer, revealing his series of chipped teeth, including one that was entirely steel. Either he'd get a whole barrel of drink out of this, or he'd find himself in yet another bar fight. Either way was fine with the street-thug turned sea-bandit. Anything to distract him from his depressing malaise.

"What do yer say, lad?" Mag smirked, "Think ye can take me in a fair as piss, piss drinkin' competitiom?"

[Smiley]

Bucket didn't even acknowledge or notice the fact that a few of the men already in the pub had gotten up in preparation for a fight, much too focused on the party that was about to occur. With tremendous eagerness, and a new drinking buddy to boot, some funny looking, barely-toothed human who, apparently, was a heavy drinker. Trying to prove that no one could out-drink him, so he said.

Bucket wasn't some sort of super big drinker himself, he usually just drank water from the rivers or from fruits, choosing to not go with alcohol too much since it screwed with his natural senses, specially his sense of direction. Still, with his insane size, his endless appetite and mass made him godly against any sort of weak alcohol and, to him, grog ain't nothing. Flavored stingin' water, that's what! 
This surface dweller couldn't ever hope to defeat someone as amazing as the perfect Bukbuk the Bucket in a drinking match! For that reason, the moment that they both of their own barrels, the giant stared him directly in the eyes, a sort of challenge.

"I hope you have the guts to endure it all, surface man! If you win, I'll give you whatever money is left from my raid!" Bucket made the bet, not saying anything about what'd happen if he won - in truth, if Bucket won, all that he wanted was the bragging rights because he is, at the best of times, such a self assured and confident creature that he can be well described as a "raving egotist".

Confidence aside, Bucket opened up the barrel, disposing of the cork that he wouldn't need anymore, slowly opening up the space that his anchor took up to reveal an angler-fish like, jagged and sharp mouth, the underbite moving forward a bit, his top moving back to reveal a black void of a mouth: one could swear that, at times, the void itself squirmed.
Not a lot of time to look inside as, once he tilted it upwards, Bucket was quick to start skulling that barrel of grog.

[The Love Ballad]

-Mag Post #3-

Mag allowed himself an ever wider grin as the fishman happily accepted his challenge. There truly was nothing better in the world than free beer. It combined his two favourite things, alcohol and not spending money on alcohol. Even better was the wager, hell, the underwater gant had even forgotten to wager what would happen if Mag lost. He'd either win or pass out drunk, either way he'd come out on top of his current predicament. It was that innocent giddiness that kept him smiling like a schoolgirl until they both had their barrels in front of them.

At once, the competition was a foot, the fishman's peculiar head would have shocked Mag into silence at any other point. But there was a drinking competition on the line, his pride as an alcoholic demanded his absolute focus. With a smooth flick of the wrist, Mag drew one of his many hidden knives from under his shirt and stabbed it into the base of the barrel. Without any concern for dignity, he was on his knees by the bar and had stabbed the knife near the bottom of the barrel. With another swift movement he had pulled the knife and covered his mouth over the hole of the barrel. The frothy alcohol near exploded into his mouth, and it was all that he could do to keep his face firmly plastered to the wood.

Just like that, Mag was all but lost to his surroundings. His mind solidified into a singular focus, to drink as much as he could.

Alas, it wasn't the alcohol that was becoming his undoing but the sheer volume of the beverage. As what felt like forever dragged on, Mag could only feel sicker and sicker, as what was an immense uncomfortable feeling in his stomach quickly became unbearable. With an audible gasp, the redheaded man ripped his face from the barrel, painfully aware that half the liquid still remained. The remainder continued to spray from the knife wound, foam and amber firewater pouring over the defeated man's head. He wasn't even drunk, the buzz in the back of his skull had only just begun.

Mag couldn't even bring himself to look at his opponent, he was sure that by the sheer size of the other gentleman alone he'd still be going. With a noise halfway between a huff and grunt, the thug quickly got to his feet, he found himself stumbling backwards. Maybe he was drunker than he thought, but that concept escaped him as his frontal lobe shut down in a grog-induced bliss.

Before he knew it, Mag had fallen sideways, right into his drinking partner.

As soon as he felt his body hit something else, Mag let loose a never-ending torrent of slurs and shouts. The words mixing and muddling as the alcohol fought with his sense of self.

"Oi, fek, ye' lookin' to start somethin', lad? Who fekin' pushed me!"  The words left his mouth quicker than they should have had any right to.

[Smiley]

Bucket had barely flinched the entire time he had been drinking, having gone to the pub a completely empty, thirsty fiend that needed some sort of liquid down his gullet. Being a fishman, his body was somehow even more filled with water than the typical human, to the point of him needing to replenish liquids all the time. Sure, he should be drinking water, but with the way that the boose he was drinking was weak to him, he might just be drinking colored water. With the alcohol down his throat, he opened one of his eyes to look at the now very drunk man next to him, stumbling right into his self.

Bucket didn't move a bit, mostly because he was way too heavy to be moved by a stumbling drunkard, though he did find it greatly amusing when Mag started throwing threats around at the invisible prankster that pushed him around, the friendly fishman even extending a free hand to help Mag out by holding him in place, stopping him from just falling again.

Before he knew it, the barrel had run out and, frustrated that there was no more, he threw it aside and sighed in satisfaction, patting the head of his new friend with a proud smile. 
"Ha! No one pushed ya, mate, you fell on your own! Drunk as a divorced father, hm? Well, I won, so I get to gloat ALL I want!"
Bucket scoffed proudly, feeling his chest figuratively swell to infinite sizes out of pride, very happy that he was the total best drinker in the island at that moment, having essentially cheated because of his race and sheer size and weight, refusing to remember that some of those specially huge people - or giants could easily drink him to death. 

"So, what now? You too drunk to challenge me to something else? If you win, I'll still give you all the leftover money - if you lose, I can keep gloating. You choose." Bucket allowed him to actually choose whatever they were going to do next. He wouldn't mind losing either, he just wanted to see what this drunkard was actually good at - maybe handling knives, since he keeps waving those around.

[The Love Ballad]

-Mag Post #4-

He wasn't pushed? Oh... That was embarrassing then. Mag only nodded at the realisation, that of course, he'd drunk too much and stumbled over himself in his stupor. That was the obvious explanation as to why he'd all but barreled into the big man. Mag knew he should have felt embarrassed, but truth be told he couldn't bring himself to care. Men get drunk, and when they get drunk they lose all chance of staying steady on their feet. He wasn't about to apologise for a natural consequence of a drinking competition. Besides, he had far more pressing concerns at the moment, namely the fact that he felt as if he'd broken into a church and pilfered all of the wine that was to be used in the services. A feeling that he'd become all too familiar with at the age of fifteen.

The room continued to spin around Mag. The drunken sailor having been righted by the gargantuan fishman who had kicked his arse in their drinking competition. His eyes swum and his sense of balance seemed to dance around the room, as if a disembodied spectre of his own drunkenesss. He stayed in place for a good while, not willing to risk any sudden movement throwing him off balance. He sniffed and took a deep breath in, letting the liquor flow through him and settle in his core. His own depraved meditation took place then and there, whilst the fishman finished off his own barrel. The severe intoxication that had all but thrown Mag to the floor earlier faded into a dull throb in the back of his skull. Years of hard drinking having honed his body to cope with the downright dangerous amount he had consumed.

The big fellow pat him on his head and seemed to swell three sizes with pride. Mag had to admit there was an energy to his new-found drinking companion. His aura itself seemed bright and to exude a boundless energy. Mag enjoyed it, it made drinking in a dive bar feel less depressing and more like a whimsical journey of masculine arguing and drinking. As Buk smiled, so too did Mag. A smile that widened even more when the fishman challenged him to another bet. A bet that Mag could choose. A bet with the promise of money! He wasnt down and out yet!

"Of course, laddie, gloat all ye want. Don't know what Oi was finkin' tryin' to outdrink a lad of yer size. Yer bigger than most houses," Mag smiled, "Call it hubris!"

He let out his throaty laugh.

"Oi do love a bet, Oi do!" Mag laughed again, very aware of how much his breath must have reaked of alcohol.

It had become obvious that the fishman didn't care to actually win money, he just wanted an excuse to gloat. That was fine with Mag. He didn't care being made to look the fool if it meant he had a chance to win big. He was a jobber, leave flashiness to the big guys and he'd make out with the cash.

"Ye heard of a game called five-finger-filet?" Mag inquired, drawing two knives and stabbing one nonchalantly into the bar, pointedly ignoring the protests of the bartender.

"Real simple game, like," Mag continued as he spread his left hand over the counter.

With quick movements he stabbed between his fingers, being careful not to cut himself. Audible thunks sounded from the wooden benchtop as the knife made contact again and again.

"We keep doin' this until one of us gets cut," Mag smiled and gestured to the knife with the other knife. "All we gots to do is keep in tune with the rhythm."

"Speaking of which!" Mag turned to the assembled patrons, many of whom had been watching the sight of the two out-of-towners compete, "Care to sing us a little song for us to play our little game to?"

A series of drunken shouts in the affirmative called out around them.

"So?"

[Smiley]

Everything had been going well! They were having fun, the drunkard seemed to be a good sport over losing and even accepted a new challenge! Bucket figured that he could win anything he threw at him, since he had the body and the power to outdo him in anything they tried. What he had seemingly forgotten was the possible and likely discrepancy in their skills, proven when the two knives came out and "Five-Finger-Fillet" was suggested.

Bucket knew it, obviously, it was a pub classic, but to be used as a bet and not as a simple show off of skill? That was a good bit dangerous, to be rather honest. Bucket knew how to do it and his martial arts practice made his hand steady, though he wasn't no specialist in handling knives.
"Uhm.. fine! I'll beat ya either way!"
The big man was quick to take his own knife and loudly place his huge hand on the counter, letting his thick fingers spreading out wide, figuring that he had a lot of space to fail - so, with confident bravado, he went ahead as the drunken friends started singing.

This was completely not in his field. Bucket was much less comfortable with knives so close to his fingers, shown with his lack of speed and finesse. Even as he tried to speed up, he'd often almost stab his very hand and almost chop a finger, with close call after close call culminating in his hand shifting just slightly at the worst moment, the knife's tip coming down against the side of his ring finger, leaving him with a nice, bloody, though not deep cut.

"GAH, WANKER!" Bucket growled in pain as he threw aside the knife to the ground, quite quickly applying his basic first aid skills by ripping, with one hand, a chunk of his already damaged pants at the bottom, wrapping it around the cut. Thankfully, the sea had disinfected his clothing as he came in, so at least he wouldn't get that thing going necrotic.
"..Fuck, you win. You want another challenge to double your winnings or..?" Bucket asked him with a slight grin, wondering if the man would let that "hubris" flare up and demand a doubling of his wins, just so they could keep playing.

[The Love Ballad]

Mag smirked as the fishman, obviously taken aback by the latest bet pulled out his own knife. Finally, something the more lithe human had an advantage with. With an almost saintlike nod the shorter of the two contestants pulled the second knife back and slipped it back under his shirt. The small knicks on his skin drawing little blood as he returned it to its hidden place by his right ribs.

As the song began in earnest, the knife moved through Mag's fingers with unprecedented precision, the little knicks and cuts that slowly accumulated on his digits doing little to take away from the man's cocky smirk and overall demeanor. This was his element, years of parlour tricks with blades had finally paid off beyond intimidating hapless dandies walking down dark alleys. As if entering a trance, Mag stared intently at his hand and the blade that almost seemed to be carried by the song of the patrons. Only being pulled out of his semi-drunken semi-meditative trance by the sound of his fishman compatriot's growls of pain. It seemed that, in much the same vein that his opponent had the upper hand in games of brute force, he had the advantage in those of dexterity. It wasn't a position that Mag was accustomed to being in, that being said, he also wasn't accustomed to fishmen in general.

Mag let out a guttural, barking laugh at his victory. The sound almost catching in his throat at a semi-growl. The fiery headed brute raised his flagon to the growing crowd of spectators, basking in the glow. Only to be brought right back into action by the question of a second game. Doubling his winnings!? He could actually be rich for the first time in his life! By the great gods of the blue sea, was that an opportunity he could afford to miss? But,then again, his luck hadn't been particularly stellar as of late. The internal contest raged within him for but a moment before his eureka moment struck.

There was no need to stress about losing his money in gambling if he could simply rig the game in his favour.

The question now, was what game exactly could he rig to be in his favour? He doubted that the fishman would settle for a simple game of chance, he seemed the sort to value contests of skill. Leaving pride to a roll of the dice wouldn't work. He had to think quickly.

"Hmmmm, moi friend," Mag feigned pondering, almost overzealously, "ye' stroike me as a fella of a vast intellect in addition that there brawn, ye' do. Clearly ye' the stronger, and Oi'm a bit faste' with the blade. Why don' we come to somethin' that falls in between our here skillsets?"

Mag paused, as if pondering for a moment, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. As if a lightbulb had gone off in his brain, his eyebrows raised at the same time that his voice did, "Uh-huh!"

"Whoi' not a simple game of observation?" The man smirked, pulling a beri from his pocket, "Oi'll do me' best to play wit' this 'ere coin afore ye'. Ye' simply tell me which hand it's in."

Mag smiled innocently. Well as innocently as his face and teeth would allow. He had every intention of cheating, already he had a coin hidden up both of his sleeves, whichever way his new companion would pick, he'd use sleight of hand to cheat. If he wasn't caught the plan would be foolproof. If he wasn't caught of course.

This was all pending the other fellow acquiescing, truth be told, Mag didn't know if he would propose a different game all together. Such were the ways of the sea and the games of chance played therein.

[Smiley]

The pain definitely rang hard even as he got used to it enough to actually just act and play normally. Being stabbed was no joke, after all, specially if your body is naturally slightly squishier than the typical human, being the fishman version of a being that has no bones to speak of - just a shell and flesh.
The pain, however, is nothing when he's in front of people he wants to impress, specially someone he already had befriended and who, form the looks of it, was actually going to propose a game of his own. A game of "chance", so he called it, though Bucket knew DAMN well that it was all about sleight of hand. 

He's no idiot. In fact, having grown in a land that is extremely friendly to pirates, mostly because they are the ones who side with his species against the world government authorities that oppressed and continue to oppress them so viciously, Bucket had way more than enough interactions with pirates to know a lot of their techniques and tricks.
He hadn't gotten laughed in pubs several times because he got stumped by a teasing adult pirate just to fall for the old tricks again. If they wanted a game of chance, they'd have a game of chance! 

"Sure, I'll play that, but.. hand me that coin." Bucket was quite quick and somewhat forceful to grab the coin right out of his hands, inspecting it for a second. It wasn't like he had to call him out, he just had to make sure that the coin was unique and prevent him from actually try to trick him! It's one thing to find a way to replace a coin with a replica, but if he just made the one they were using unique.. then he didn't even have to figure out what sort of bullshit he could do with his ragged clothing.
Taking the knife with his not-injured hand, Bucket very crudely drew a cross on the coin, scratching it by sheer force, very much invalidating that coin in official "banks", but being just one beri, it didn't really matter to anyone. 
"There. I'm a fishman, from a land of pirate lovers - I know better." The giant fishman flicked that coin right back to his new friend, waiting for him to actually play fair and square. 

The thought, though, that he still had predicted something like that happening very much lied in his mind. He didn't know more sleight of hand tricks that could work with just that one coin.. aside from making sure his hands were kept separate. 

[The Love Ballad]

Mag let out small sounds of discontent and anger as the bigger man ripped the coin from his grasp. The human was still surprised by the strength of his new drinking buddy, despite having witnessed his prowess earlier. However, the pain in his hand was but a dull annoyance when compared to the panic that was settling into the back of his subconscious.  The coins he'd hidden up his sleeves were all but useless now, he couldn't very well use them to substitute for the coin that had now been defaced. He'd have to  resort to his backup plan.. Winning though genuine skill with sleight of hand, as opposed to cheating through that same skillset.

"Wouldn't dare cheat, ye', moit," Mag forced his voice to sound friendly through his grimace as he caught the coin.

Mag looked around the room, making sure to get a view at the room. It was absolutely filled to the brim with drunkards, all staring at the little contest that had started between himself and the immigrant from the grand line.  Mag was almost certain that if any of them kept their eyes upon their game, they'd almost certainly call out tips to the erstwhile fishman challenging the man from North Blue. He had to not only trick the eyes of the man with the bucket for his head, but the entire bloody establishment. He had to be good.

Mag sighed, visibly nervous, before quickly letting his visage fall to the wayside of a cocky grin. His original plan required a good deal of skill at sleight of hand,  this plan would just require more. Fortunately, throwing knives converted well to throwing coins. Mag flicked the coin into the air before grabbing it with his other hand. Quickly his hands flicked through the air, the coin flicking between them quick enough to almost seem invisible. Fingers and joints let out audible clicks as they moved, the look of concentration on Mag's face only disappearing when he attempted to follow his opponent's gaze.

Finally, Mag faked a pass to his left hand, the coin comfortably hidden in the palm of his right.  The redhead held both hands out to the challenger.

"Well, take a guess," Mag gestured, with an almost lazy shrug.