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They said this was a city for our kind, they said it was a safe haven from the rest of the world. This was suppose to be the city where we where safe from regular humans. But, in a city where Meta-Humans run rampant, is there such thing as safety? When taking what you want is as simple as waving your hand, or closing your eyes, how can there be law? In this city, the truth is there is only one source of law, and that are the different criminal organizations that have formed all around us. The only order is that of the darkest part of humanity, of criminal organizations where the strong thrive while the weak gasp for air. This is Niwa Nights.. This is our home.

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Timber.
Topic Started: Dec 23 2013, 09:57 AM (994 Views)
Cowboy
2312 hours.
Saturday before Christmas.

Let's make a night you won't remember.
I'll be the one you won't forget.


The Bigger They Are, the harder they fall; right?

"I'll have another here, Naoki."

It was hard to mistake that voice for anyone else in the city; like gravel tumbling around in a cement truck. Granted it was attached to a man so disfigured and beat he made Marv look like a GQ cover model. One of the hazards of spending your evenings looking for trouble, apparently. But whatever. The hand that wrapped around the shot-glass she poured for him had gnarled knuckles, half-open - hell he looked like he'd just walked out of a tumbling cement truck himself.
But it'd be good to take a night off, right?

He'd, without warning, left his bangle back at the condo. Hell, he'd even left his cellphone back there on the kitchen island.

It'd been months since the prison adventures, since he watched STUFT! burn to the ground, since he'd buried all those bodies and memories. He hadn't taken a day off since then. Between training at the Chateau, managing both teams while his other co-pilots were MIA, and still trying to fit in a little midnight-adventure around the city? Well, burning the candle at both ends can wear a person down after a while.
Granted, isn't that what Military folk are supposed to be used to?

Nope; Mercer had decided to give his responsibilities the middle finger for the evening and relax. The scars and bruises and tattoos wouldn't look so out of place if it weren't for the wardrobe. Dark slacks and a dark shirt, the only splash of color in the form of a deep, vibrant crimson tie unfurled just a bit around his neck. What was wrong with wearing a present from the DA?

A hand that more resembled a leather catchers mitt ran through his disheveled hair, coming down across his left cheek passing through the beginnings of another beard. He'd trim it off before he looked homeless again, but the last few days he just couldn't be bothered. He tapped his knuckles against the bar - careful not to split it in half in the process - and got himself another round.

Why not Dusk?
Why not The Shit?
Why not the Sky Lounge?

Too many memories. Everyone in The Shit knew his name, his face; granted when you're built like a refrigerator it's hard to be mistaken. Ever since the Shootout he couldn't bring himself to go back to the Lounge, and it'd be hard to take a night off if he went to where people knew who he was.

Maybe hanging out with some new people was just the shot in the arm he needed to get his head back on straight.

Granted, with the room spinning at the edges the way it was, that might be harder. He was on, what, shot ten? twelve?

His big-ass oxford was tapping along to the song in the club, his shit-brown eyes roaming over the crowd hoping to catch anything exciting.
So far the closest thing he'd seen to that was a few girls making out. One of the had pink hair.
It was kinda weird.
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Cowboy
"Mhm..."

If nothing else she was interesting. He'd reached back for his drink by the time she made the quip about the marks on her back - at which point he nearly spit the rum-concoction across the floor. She was witty, he'd give her that. The way her smirk teased upwards, the mischievous spark in her eye. She was a flirt, he'd give her that.
The gut reaction was to sink into it and made some line up about being 'tied up', for all the markings on her body in the spots they were in, but, given that they seemed unpleasant, best not to stir that pot. Might drag up old memories - which theoretically was the point in explaining scars, but making fun of such a thing? Not so kosher.
How do you come back with a statement to rival one as bold as that? He set his drink back on the counter and ran his fingertip around the rim of the glass before he turned back to her.
"So, Miss Queen... you're not entirely human, are you?"

Well, there's a good segway. Nevermind the fact that he had a thing for people that weren't normal humans (not that he'd stated that, of course, but the way it was phrased...) but those scars had more years to heal than the years she wore on her face. He could read people, and she was something beyond the norm.
What was it then? Metahuman? Longevity like Aurael? Healing like Wade? Something else entirely?

So much fun meeting new people, isn't it?
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