Participants:
| Scene Title | Chivalry |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | After trying to force Abby's contact information out of one Brian, Deckard finds himself facing four of them. Three of them are naked. One has a dustpan. WHO WILL EMERGE VICTORIOUS? The answer will probably not surprise you. |
| Date | November 14, 2008 |
The Nite Owl is a survivor from ages past - one of those ancient diners with huge plate glass windows, checkerboard linoleum floor, and a neon owl over the entrance that blinks at those entering. Inside, there's an L-shaped main counter, complete with vintage soda fountain and worn steel stools. All of the cooking is done on the ranges ranked against the rear wall. The outer wall is lined with booths upholstered in cracked scarlet vinyl, tables trimmed with polished chrome. Despite its age, it's been lovingly maintained. The air is redolent with the scent of fresh coffee, vanilla, and frying food.
What's black and blue and red all over? The rail of a man who lets himself into the Nite Owl shortly after dark. Bruising lifts in a fading crawl from the unkempt bristle of stubble around his jaw, now abundant enough to look like a symptom of homelessness rather than a symptom of chronic sloth. It goes so far as to stain the corresponding cheek bone and eye bag a little darker, which only serves to make him look more undead than he already looked. He's been here before, sometimes in similar states of disrepair, but never this early, and never without slumping immediately into a seat. Right now it looks like he's looking for something, or someone.
When the cat is away, the mice will listen to rap music and slack off. In the back, Brian is 'washing dishes'. But in a very free-style form, a T-Pain song is blaring in the back and the young man is throwing down all his moves as he gets the grease and stains out. It's been slow tonight, real slow. So the only waitress on duty went outside to take a smoke break. Though he does take an occasional glance out the door to the lobby, and in one such glance the man catches the new entry of Deckard.
Making his way Brian flips open the door as the soothing melodies of 'I like the Bartenderr' leak through the crack of the door. The young man walks up to the man. "Hows it goin' bro?" He asks as he looks up at him, his appearance gives him pause but, Brian knows better and pretends like nothing out of the ordinary is up with Deckard's face.
Deckard is, upon closer inspection, sober. Again inconsistent with his usual mode of operation. Rather than shrug his overcoat off the door, he keeps it wrapped close around his shoulders while he paces deeper into the diner, towards the dulcet tones of T-Pain leaking out of the back. And lo, there is Brian. His bro. "I need to talk to Abigail." Straight to the point, he glances past the younger man to the counter, then back again. "Is she here?"
A little smirk. "Aren't you a little old to be hitting on Abby, dude? Or are you her dad?" Brian asks with a coy smile. "Can I get you a cup of coffee or something? Waitress will be in a minute."
"Fuck you." Annoyance creases in deep across Deckard's brow, and he has to steel himself with a steep breath to keep his temper from taking it any further than that. He looks a little stressed out. Perhaps ironically, like he could use a drink. Or a really long nap. "Sorry. Look. I'm not here for coffee. Just — I need to talk to her. It's personal. Do you have a phone number? Contact information?"
Anger flares up on Brian's face at the two word suggestion, then he visibly relaxes at the apology. He slowly shakes his head in response."Word is she got in some trouble. If it's personal and you know her, you shouldn't have to ask me that shit, boss. What's the problem? I can tell her."
That earns a more intent look from the Deckster, who was in the process of getting distracted by someone walking around outside when Brian mentions that he 'can tell her.' It's a little creepy, the way he stares. Gears turn behind the pale grey of his eyes, nearly visible in the absence of anything that resembles a blink. "It's personal," he repeats finally. "What's your name? Is your manager here?"
Brian's own grey eyes match the gaze, though his features slowly let on that he's being a little weirded out by the older man. "She doesn't work here anymore." He responds flatly. "I am the manager." Comes the bold statement, always the best policy.
"You don't look very managerial." Simple observation. Flint turns his head again, this time to check and see who else is here, and who else might be lurking in the back room. "What kind of trouble is she in? Legal? Ex-boyfriend in town? You being the manager and all, you should probably know. Right?"
"Either do you." The Diner is practically vacant except for the two, the cook is way back in the office, probably on the computer and distracted. The music is loud in the kitchen and the waitress is outside. Flint and Brian are the only occupants of the lobby. "I'm not at liberty to talk about my employee's personal lives. If you're not going to get anything, I have a job to do." Wash dishes. Sometimes managers wash dishes, right?
Deckard's patience is wearing thin. Still eyeing the far wall, he just stands there for a minute and works his jaw while he watches the cook do his thing with the computer. Slowly, his right hand dips down into his jacket pocket, and out comes the billfold. "Fifty bucks for whatever you have on file. Address, phone number, parent's names. I don't care."
If only Deckard knew. Brian would be more than happy to give out information for fifty bucks. But Abby is different. Abby is family, and Brian won't rat on family. "You think you can bribe me?" Comes the incredulous answer, "I—" He pauses as his name is called out from the back.
"Hey, Bri Guy! I'm gonna step outside with Tash for a smoke, that guy need anything?"
"No, bro, he's fine." Brian shouts to the back, and with that the cook slips out the backdoor which brings the dishwasher/managers attention back to Deckard. "Fuck off, man." With that Brian goes to turn his back to the man.
"I tried to be nice." It's not clear whether Deckard's talking to himself or Brian's back. Either way, he sets to unbuttoning his overcoat so that he can reach around after something at the side of his belt. Surprise! It's…a…taser! Yaaay! With one last sideways glance to determine that the cook is still outside, he hefts the gun-like device one-handed. His aim is lazy. "Watch a lot of Youtube?"
Brian stops, slowly turning around, he raises his hands in the 'OH MY GOD DONT SHOOT' gesture. His eyes are wide and his heart starts to beat faster. A man who's after Abby with a special gun. He's a Phoenix now, he has to look after his own. Even if pain or death may come of it. Got to look like you're in control. Come on Brian.
"I find that no matter what I go on to watch, I find myself tempted to click on the 'boob' videos every time. So I stopped." He says as he tries to control his breath. "I try to resist temptation, and not do anything wrong. But.. I'm going to have to do something wrong." His grey eyes flick up to Deckard. A few slow steps are taken forward, so the taser is almost touching his chest. "I'm going to have to edit the security tapes."
"Nothing wrong with a nice pair of boobies." If there was any good humor residing in the lines around Deckard's face, it has evacuated. There isn't any anger in its place — just a kind of irritable vacancy while he watches the younger man's approach. A glances is flickered up after the nearest camera, and his nose rankles. "Fuck the tapes. I've got bigger problems, kid. Last chance. All I need is a phone number. Can't hurt her with that."
"You don't get it fuck head. I'm not editing the tapes for you.." What happens next can only be described as 'what the fuck'. A sound reminiscent to something being sucked of mud occurs three times, as Brian…pops.. more men out of him. Identical men. The sound happens one more time and Deckard will find himself completely surrounded by a total of four Brians. Only thing is, three of them are naked. "I'm editing them for me." The same voice but now, behind Deckard.
The four men don't wait too long after their manifestation to go to business. The Brian in front throws his hands up grab Deckards wrist and move the taser so it's no longer pointed at him. The Brian to the left sends his best right hook punch at Deckard's chin, while the Brian on the right aims for a kidney punch. Finally the Brian behind places one hand in the other and then with all the force he can muster, drives an elbow at the top of Deckard's back.
One Brian, two Brians, three Brians, floor. So it goes. Surprise is hard to miss in the way Deckard's mouth falls slightly open and his eyes sketch jaggedly from one fully formed man to the next. The fact that the new guys are naked doesn't register. So far as his superior vision is concerned, the first one was too.
The answer of which one to fire at is answered for him when his wrist is grabbed. And that answer is apparently none of them. The hooks fly out and imbed themselves into an unoccupied booth seat, to which they deliver quite the unpleasant shock. He has enough time to hook his left fist into the gut of whoever happens to be nearest (all bets are on Brian) but that's about as far as he gets. The combo of chin and kidney punches send him to a knee. The drive into his upper back sees him making close friends with the floor. All in all it looks pretty bad, but come on. Four guys.
Jerking to the side as the taser is fired, Brian's face screws up in the tension of it all. His heart rate beating hard and fast as Deckard goes down from the different attacks of Team Brian. Taking a deep breath, the clothed Brian raises up his foot and brings it down hard at Deckard's hand holding the taser. If he gives it up, one of the Brian's will start gathering it up for use again. The other Brians? Well, a kick is sent to Deckard's gut, just to make sure he doesn't get up and then hands are on his ankles and the older man will find himself being dragged along the diner floor towards the kitchen. One of the young men goes ahead, flipping open the doors he picks up a mop and goes to make sure the cook nor the waitress will be entering in through the back door anytime soon. "Why are you looking for Abby? Who are you, and who do you work for?" Comes the voice.
"God — damn it, you've got to be fucking—" Breathless cursing hitches into a mule kick aimed at the nearest Brian's knee right about the time his hand is stamped open. Long legs, large feet. It probably hurts. Deck's definitely not hanging onto the taser, though, and the kick to his gut knocks the breath back out of him, temporarily curbing his cursing and his struggling. Lo and behold, here he is on his back watching the ceiling skate by overhead in a daze. Again.
Arms over his head, laid out on the floor like the rest of him, there is an air of wary resignation about him when he finally rolls his eyes over to the Brian he presumes to be the speaker of the bunch. "I hope that other guy was headed to use that on the floor, because it's really dirty."
A yelp comes out as the naked Brian takes a kick to the thigh. Reeling back, that action only brings more kicks to the man's person. Three to be exact. Once Deckard is in the kitchen Brian lets go of him in front of the big dishwashing sink, though another kick is levelled at him. Once at the sink, the young man takes the sprayer and proceeds to wet Deckard down from head to toe. "You're really dirty too, let me help you with that." Then, the last Brian from the lobby enters, putting the finishing touches on making the taser work. He's never actually used one before, but on the movies after they pulled the string back in they could use it again.. right? Once its ready he says, "I'm not like a scientist or anything. But I figure if you're real wet the electricity hurts more. So. Tell me. Why are you looking for Abby? Who are you? And who do you work for?" He asks with a frown. "Do you watch youtube much?"
Deckard struggles against the spray, but with all the strength and determination of a trout that's been kicked around the dock and stepped on several times. Thoroughly wretched and sopping by the time Sprinkler Brian has finished playing with the sink, he sweeps water off his face as best he can, cold eyes pinned out after the inevitable approach of Taser Brian. "I already fucking told you. I need to talk to her. What about you? Old school friends? Poker buddies?"
"What do you need to talk to her about?!" Brian asks angrily. Taser Brian raises the taser, and pulls the trigger, no such luck. Will have to do it manually. One of the Brian's goes to collect another mop-like instrument. A dustpan. Walking over to the man he forcibly presses it against Deckard's face to prevent him from fighting against more attacks from the fish. Taser Brian walks closer. "Last chance. Tell me why you're looking for her."
"It's personal." When Brian gets angry, Flint gets loud. Or at least, louder and more insistant. He starts to raise up onto his elbow, but suddenly there's a dustpan being mashed into his face, and his head thonks audibly back against the floor. "I can't," is muffled into the pan. He does struggle, but he's pretty effectively subdued, and can only wrest so far before the pressure against his wrecked jaw slows him down. "Fuck you. Fuck you so fucking much. I hope she finds you and wears your fucking balls around her fucking neck like a fucking trophy—" And so on.
Brian pauses. What was that last bit? The dustpan on his face releases for a tiny bit as Brian tries to make sense of it all, but then the pressure is reapplied. "Fuck you! Fucker! Fucking tell me why you're trying to find her or I'll put the fucking taser on your fucking balls! I swear!" Brian yells down at him. "Tell me your name!" Taser Brian still stands at the ready, watching. Dustpan Brian applies more pressure while fourth Brian applies another kick. "Listen fucko, you show up trying to find her, then threaten me with a taser?? People are looking for Abby. And if you're fucking them.." He doesn't know what he'll do. Kill him? Hardly. Brian couldn't bring himself to do that. Could he? Clothed Brian goes to the back into the vacant office. Picking up the phone he quickly dials in a number. Ring Ring.
What is WITH all the people wanting to do terrible things to his manhood lately? The threat and series of fucks inspire another flinching struggle, and then…stillness. A few slow breaths rasp against the underside of the dustpan, and Deckard lifts his right hand as if to plant it on his chest. Another breath, and in a stiff jerk, he reaches under his left arm to draw out the .40 that's been hiding underneath it. Depending on how many terrible things happen at once, it might be a matter of milliseconds before the gun is pointed bluntly up at the Asshole Brian who just fucking kicked him again. Perhaps conspicuously, despite the dustpan, he seems to know exactly where he is.
It's a ringing phone! One which Abby fishes from her purse and happily answers. "Abigail Beauchamp" comes the familiar voice over the phone.
"Abby." Brian says on the phone in the office, he sounds a little out of breath. "There's a guy here, at the Owl. He's looking for you." Out with Deckard, a bunch of eyebrows spring up in shock. "He's got a gun, Abby! He's got a gun!"
Dustpan Brian lifts the dustpan and simply hammers it back down as quickly as he can. As the gun comes out, not Taser Brian practically hurls himself at Deckard's chest, attempting to stop him from drawing the pistol. Taser Brian also makes his move, bringing out the hooks he goes to quickly sink it into the man's ankle.
Deckard is a damp mess of a man to be flopping on top of. His wool overcoat makes an unpleasant squishing sound under the weight of Asshole Brian, AKA Not Taser Brian (or Dustpan Brian.) This Brian is in the most unfortunate position of the three, because without actually having the gun all the way out yet, the salesman turned rat squeezes a shot off. The casing flies out and smacks Asshole Brian in the face — the bullet puts a hole in his coat and lodges itself in the wall. The gas and powder stippling is hot enough to burn between the two of them, and the shot rings on in the ears of all parties even after he's been cracked in the face with the pan again. There's blood coming from somewhere, likely his nose, and a reflexive jerk away from the sink of the taser's barbs into his ankle, but no further shots fired. Even in x-ray mode, blotches of white static obscure his vision.
"Fuck. Abby. Stay away from here, call the fuckin' cops or something. Do -not- come here." He says sternly as the phone slams shut. Clothed Brian darts out of the office. Asshole Brian freezes up as the bullet sounds off and recoils away form Deckard, grabbing at his face. Then Asshole Brian is gone. With contact from Taser Brian the former simply melds into the latter. Clothed Brian rushes over to Taser Brian who is also absorbed into Clothed Brian. The trigger is pulled again on Deckard to increase the surge. Dustpan Brian drops the dustpan, grabs one of the knives and slinks out into the lobby, though he makes sure to stay out of range of the cameras.
Pounding starts to come at the door with the mop lodged in it. "Bri guy! What's going on! You alright?!" The cook and the waitress locked outside.
Abby stares at her phone. She's to call the cops… why didn't /he/ call the cops. And guy looking for her, with a gun. Despite the warnings, Abby doesn't stop her steps. Brian + man with gun = hurt? If anything it hurries her steps, in fear that Brian might get shot, and well.. She can assume the worst, or she can hurry her blonde ass up.
"Auugggghhh—" says Flint. Electricity seizes at his spine and locks his joints, pain lifting the small of his back off the wet floor while the taser does its thing. His grip on the gun snaps hard enough that one of his knuckles cracks, only to fail the instant the shock stops. There's a heavy metallic clatter when it slips off his side and into his puddle. He gasps. Fuck.
No wonder people get so pissed off when you do that to them.
Dropping the taser, Brian darts his hand in at the man to retrieve the gun. Grasping the .40 he pulls it out and tests the grip in his hand. He's never held a gun in this type of situation before. A moment of pause. The young man stands up over Deckard, pointing the gun at him as he backs up and edges back into the office. Time to edit.. or break the tapes. Moving in the office the man picks up the chair and slams it hard against the television and the tape.. thing. Sparks fly and Brian turns his face. Dropping the chair he moves back into the kitchen. The naked Brian from the lobby runs back in, wipes the knife's handle off and then rushes to clothed Brian. Melded. The only Brian that’s left. The camera wires in the lobby are cut.
Turning, Brian calls out to the door. "Its okay. I'm coming. Someone trying to rob the place.. I'm okay!" Looking back at Deckard, he points the gun forcefully at the man. "Last chance. You fucking tell me why you're looking for Abby. You with the Feds? You with that fucking Russian? Talk. Or I accidentally shot you while you were trying to rob the place when I was trying to defend myself." He glares down at Deckard. "Talk." He says weakly, almost pleadingly.
How fast can a healer run? Well, fast enough that the Diner's close, the owl sign seen. Bag tucked close to her body and steps still quick, her hand closes around the door to the diner, peering in and then slipping in. Not a sound spoken, she looks about the fairly empty place, and starting to creep her way towards the back.
He's had better days. Possibly worse ones too, but there's still plenty of time left for this one to backslide. Wet, bloody and cramping in places normal people don't get muscle cramps, Flint has only moved enough for the bloody dustpan to slide mournfully off the side of his head, duty done. You fought bravely, dustpan. Deckard, not so much. He looks like a drowned cat. Not heraldry generally associated with dashing acts of courage and cunning.
Upon taking note of Gun Brian's return, having lost track of which Brian he was originally or even if he's more than one of them, he lifts his soggy head to eye the other man without much feeling. And then back down into the wet it goes again, sending a few sluggish ripples out to ask for the dustpan's autograph. "I need information," he croaks, wincing when a shift of his leg tugs against the barbs still in his ankle. "I'm…there are these guys. Angry…guys. Not enough hugs when they were kids. I don't know."
Why didn't he say this earlier?! Before tasers were involved?! Brian's grey eyes dart around. "Run!" He shouts at the door. "He's up, call the cops!" Brian points the gun straight at the wall and lets off two shots. That should stop their pounding on the door. He slowly turns the gun back to Deckard. Staring at him levelly. "Quick, keep talking. What do you want from Abby, I know where she is. But like -fuck- am I letting you see her. You can trust me." Says the man who just tased and beat the hell out of Deckard.
Not that Brian can keep that from happening. "Brian?" Abby's wound her way around the counter and then into the kitchen, only to see the two of them there. There's a startled look though, when she spots the person on the ground. "FLINT?!" beat up it seems, by Brian. "Sweet heavenly father.. what did you do to him Brian? Flint, what did you do to garner this? Looking for more armor plating?!" Abby's not making steps in further, and she clenches a hand in a fist around the strap of her bag.
"Damnit Abby! I told you to stay away!" Brian says in a startling rage once he puts the pieces together and realizes the gravity of her presence. Anger contorts his face, then she addresses the man on the ground. "You know him?" He asks, his rage softening a little bit. "He pulled a taser on me. I thought he was trying to get you.. Working for that Russian guy." Brian says slowly as he peers at Abby, the gun is still pointed at Deckard.
"So far you've done more to me than they have and I'm one of you. Asshole." Deckard's muttering is sort of lost in the midst of Abby and Brian's reunion. He just lifts a hand enough to manage a, 'What he said,' gesture before pushing the same hand up over his eyes. "I don't know any Russians."
"He's a customer, here, and an 'insurance' salesman" Abby's winding her way in past brian. "He's never hurt me before. And cosindiering you discharged a gun… How much longer till the cops come you think?" She's offering her hand to Deckard to help him up. "Have to get him out of here Brian. I think he's evolved" A look back. 'Did you ask first, then beat him up, or beat him up and then ask?"
Brian looks genuinely hurt at Abby's words. "He pulled a taser on me Abby! And he said he was after you! I was trying to protect you!" He says adamantly in his defense. Then nods. "Yeah. Get him out of here. I'll stay here and tell the Cops a story." He murmurs to the woman, the expression of hurt still painted on his face. He moves about the kitchen, throwing things around, making it look like something vicious went down. Pots and pans clatter as he tosses them to the ground. Then finally. "Abby? You can heal bullet wounds, right?"
"I did pull a taser on him," is muttered at the ceiling, and Deckard…takes a little while to get up onto his feet. It's a slow, stiff, painful process, and one that involves a good two or three dirty looks aimed across the kitchen at Brian along the way. His overcoat and the suit beneath, still sodden, set to dripping, already well on their way to creating a new puddle for him to stand in. Eyes red, nose bloody, hair plastered to his head — yeah. It's going to be hard to live this down, later. "Why? Want me to shoot you?"
"Heavens, Brian, did you get shot?" Abby's released Deckard for the moment "stay there" And then offers her hand to to Brian. "Take it, quick, i'll do what I can for you" If he is indeed shot. "Flint, don't go anywhere. We're going for a walk, and i'm fixing you up and your answering some question. Or i'll feed you you my bible in a not so nice way"
"No, no I'm not shot. But I will be later." Brian says, before waving a hand dismissively. "Seriously, you have to get out of here, like fast." And there comes everyone's favorite noise. Sirens.
"Seriously, get out of here." He points to the back door. Going to it he quickly removes the mop and throws it on the ground. "I'll catch up with you later Abby, now, please go!" His grey eyes go up to Deckard. "Sorry." He offers with a little shrug.
"You shouldn't be." In some conversations that might qualify as reassuring. The way Deckard says it hints otherwise, and the look that accompanies the statement is starkly honest. But he can follow directions. Or, at least, fifty percent of the ones he's currently getting. Abby says stay, Brian says go. Sirens say, we are sirens. Going seems like the better of the two ideas, and he turns for the lobby with an expectation that Abby will follow. Once he's stooped to jerk the barbed electrodes out of his ankle, that is.
"My old place Brian. GO there" She rattles off the address to him, and then is quickly en route out of the restaurant with Deckrd, offering a hand to keep him up as they go. "Call me when you get there, if i'm not there, i'll call you at some point too" Better to be safe than sorry. "Thank you Brian" She looks over her shoulder. 'For protecting me"
A soft smile at Abby as she speaks to him over his shoulder. A glare to Deckard and then as they walk off, he's alone. Sorta. In a flash a naked Brian has appeared again, who is handed the gun that Deckard left behind. No way is he giving that back. He's been looking to get his hands on one of these. The clothed Brian moves to the sink and grips it tightly. "Let's do this." He murmurs through gritted teeth. And with that BANG! Another shot is let out and the clothed Brian collapses instantly.
The bullet slips easily through and out of his calf, sending him into a tangle on the ground. Hyperventilating ensues in between the constant cursing. His hands clench close tightly, knuckles going white. The naked Brian winces at the 'pain' in his head before he takes off through the back door.
Brian rolls to his back as he groans loudly, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Oh God.. Oh God.. Give me strength. Give me fucking strength." His voice fluctuates through different pitches at the sheer pain of it all.. Soon.. The police will arrive and Brian will have a story all laid out for them.
Brian fed a false story to the cops:
Tonight, local 24 hour Diner was apparently attacked and almost robbed by a single gunman, the single assailant was foiled in his robbery because of the Nite Owl's dishwasher. Brian Fulk single handedly fought off and repelled the assailant, while taking a bullet wound in the leg at the same time.
Police say they were very surprised at Fulk's courage and or foolhardiness. Though his decisions are somewhat questionable, there will be at least one person who is happy for the young man's heroism. The Nite Owl's manager.
Fulk was carted off to the hospital by the police, and is currently unavailable for comment. But according to police reports, the unknown assailant held Fulk, the only employee inside at the time at gunpoint and demanded the money from the cash register. While the assailant went to destroy the cameras and the tapes, Fulk got a hold of a taser and was able to take down the would-be robber. Though he was forced to flee, he did get a shot off at Fulk before running. This man is now at large, any one with any information on a man who fits this description—
// A flick of a sketch that looks like no one at all in particular.//
Should call the police at once. In lighter news, a local woman claims to have found the cure to the disease known as procrastination." A smile forms on the newscaster's lips, "A good attitude and just a little bit of -soul- music. Trisha Takinawa with the story."
 November 14th: Jamie Chambers |
 November 14th: Worth One Bullet |