02-06-2018, 10:14 PM
Mik silently waited for Oriena's response. He wasn't sure if she was thinking about it or merely drawing out the wait for somerthing she had already decided. In truth, it could only have been seconds.
Best guess tho? The wait. Of course. It would always be the wait. He smiled, content to see what she said, and his gaze went back to the two pricks at the table. All the pieces, lined up in a row. He'd checked his wallet when they'd first come in.
They had a little time before they had to begin. Tempers had to be primed and what not. Not too soon, not to quick. What was the story? Goldilocks or something? Not too soft, not too hard. The slow burn, with a slew of drinks to keep it simmering. The little prods.
All the pretty maids lined up in a row, just waiting for the first push.
He was peripherally aware of the mook next to them. Meathead who fancied the scar made him a tough guy. And maybe he was. Big guy. Big whoop. Mik had been it fights before and would be in fights after. Some you win, some you lose.
And just like everywhere else, people liked to not really see him. They saw what they imagined. What they wanted. What they needed. Mik the sad son of old muscle of a fallen family. Not knowing that growing up, there had been other enemies.
The families mostly left him alone or used him, as go betweens, something he used to move around with ease. Gopniks and others, tho, just liked to stomp. And he'd had his time with them. Beaten more often than not, (be honest asshole. Almost always when it was a group.) When it was 5 against one? Come one, anyone who said otherwise was a fucking liar.
But one on one....yeah. He did alright. Better than alright, mostly.
So he didn't sweat the mook. Worse came to worse....well, there was always the lighter...and the power. Unless the guy channeled, not really much to worry about. And what were the chances of that?
Course channeling here- or a fight for that matter- would ruin the fun he had in mind. He needed to.be careful.
Still, the dice would come up what they came up.
Aaaaaannnnnnd so of course, the universe itself might be a joke. And might have let him IN on the joke......But that didn't mean she wasn't a fucking bitch either. He had to and salute her.
Because somehow mook got his panties in a twist, knocked over the bottle of vodka and then lit into him.
Mik held his drink, still lounging against the bar, just looking at him quizically, trying to understand why this was his fault. He noticed the waitress and kinda did a mental take. This guy was trying to alpha him for Kat? She was cute and all- definitely nice curves-
but she'd seen bar fights hundreds of times. He doubted they'd impress her.
More than that, though. Mook would prolly be disappointed to know her boyfriend was this doofy painter. Had the whole starving artist sensitivity thing going on. Definitely not a fighter. Wrong tree buddy.
So he didn't flinch when his arm cocked back. You never flinched. Like begging for it Give him this, though. He was not stupid. He could read a room. Not that Mik had friends here. He took a small sip of his drink, enjoyed the slow burn.
Mik was maybe a hand shorter and while he wasn't skinny or weak, he didn't give off the aura of mass or strength, not like this guy anyway. Which suited him just fine. Underestimation and all that. Either way, tho, between this, that, and the other, Mook would end up looking the moron in all this. Not the tough guy.
Like I said, give it to him. He didn't back down and yet he still managed to walk to walk to the bathroom with most of his dignity in tact.
Mik hadn't even said a word. Hadn't provoked him. He did feel the smile come on as he left. Gus had already started on the spilled vodka. "Another bottle, when you have the chance."
Guy rolled his eyes.
He turned to Oriena, wondering what trouble was brewing in those depths. He laughed to himself. Well, time to toss the dice. He gave her a half smile. "Where were we?"
Edited by Mikhail, Feb 6 2018, 11:08 PM.
Best guess tho? The wait. Of course. It would always be the wait. He smiled, content to see what she said, and his gaze went back to the two pricks at the table. All the pieces, lined up in a row. He'd checked his wallet when they'd first come in.
They had a little time before they had to begin. Tempers had to be primed and what not. Not too soon, not to quick. What was the story? Goldilocks or something? Not too soft, not too hard. The slow burn, with a slew of drinks to keep it simmering. The little prods.
All the pretty maids lined up in a row, just waiting for the first push.
He was peripherally aware of the mook next to them. Meathead who fancied the scar made him a tough guy. And maybe he was. Big guy. Big whoop. Mik had been it fights before and would be in fights after. Some you win, some you lose.
And just like everywhere else, people liked to not really see him. They saw what they imagined. What they wanted. What they needed. Mik the sad son of old muscle of a fallen family. Not knowing that growing up, there had been other enemies.
The families mostly left him alone or used him, as go betweens, something he used to move around with ease. Gopniks and others, tho, just liked to stomp. And he'd had his time with them. Beaten more often than not, (be honest asshole. Almost always when it was a group.) When it was 5 against one? Come one, anyone who said otherwise was a fucking liar.
But one on one....yeah. He did alright. Better than alright, mostly.
So he didn't sweat the mook. Worse came to worse....well, there was always the lighter...and the power. Unless the guy channeled, not really much to worry about. And what were the chances of that?
Course channeling here- or a fight for that matter- would ruin the fun he had in mind. He needed to.be careful.
Still, the dice would come up what they came up.
Aaaaaannnnnnd so of course, the universe itself might be a joke. And might have let him IN on the joke......But that didn't mean she wasn't a fucking bitch either. He had to and salute her.
Because somehow mook got his panties in a twist, knocked over the bottle of vodka and then lit into him.
Mik held his drink, still lounging against the bar, just looking at him quizically, trying to understand why this was his fault. He noticed the waitress and kinda did a mental take. This guy was trying to alpha him for Kat? She was cute and all- definitely nice curves-
but she'd seen bar fights hundreds of times. He doubted they'd impress her.
More than that, though. Mook would prolly be disappointed to know her boyfriend was this doofy painter. Had the whole starving artist sensitivity thing going on. Definitely not a fighter. Wrong tree buddy.
So he didn't flinch when his arm cocked back. You never flinched. Like begging for it Give him this, though. He was not stupid. He could read a room. Not that Mik had friends here. He took a small sip of his drink, enjoyed the slow burn.
Mik was maybe a hand shorter and while he wasn't skinny or weak, he didn't give off the aura of mass or strength, not like this guy anyway. Which suited him just fine. Underestimation and all that. Either way, tho, between this, that, and the other, Mook would end up looking the moron in all this. Not the tough guy.
Like I said, give it to him. He didn't back down and yet he still managed to walk to walk to the bathroom with most of his dignity in tact.
Mik hadn't even said a word. Hadn't provoked him. He did feel the smile come on as he left. Gus had already started on the spilled vodka. "Another bottle, when you have the chance."
Guy rolled his eyes.
He turned to Oriena, wondering what trouble was brewing in those depths. He laughed to himself. Well, time to toss the dice. He gave her a half smile. "Where were we?"
Edited by Mikhail, Feb 6 2018, 11:08 PM.
"Good and ill.
We're like the wind,
we blows both ways."
- Mad Sweeney, American Gods
- Mad Sweeney, American Gods