The Beat thumped along with her heart. Million miles per hour- she loved this. Never wanted to stop, never wanted to get old and not be able to take off if she wanted to. Breathing in deeply, she let the atmosphere of the bar relax her a little bit, before settling down, rocking back and forth on her heels and balls of her feet. The Beat still pounded, and she was still desperate to run off, but it was coming up to six PM, when the rush of people off of work would start. Outside, she heard the faint sound of a fiddler saw and bow their way across their instruments- that would be Manny, no doubt.

The bar itself was nothing special. It was quite awkwardly shoved between two apartment buildings, but that did mean that it did some roaring work, especially since it got a new rotation of beers in every month. Yes, they were from microbreweries. They still carried the normal stuff. Despite having been renovated about five years ago, the bar still had an old-school cosy sort of feel. Everything wasn’t the latest sleek matte plastic, with a wooden counter and cushioned cubicles for people to sit in… Or just plonk yer butt down on the barstools. Either worked for her.

It was three hours until she could leave and get ready for her gig tonight. Just three hours. Hell, they were probably set to be fairly bearable three hours, if she was perfectly honest, her fingers running across the counter. Finally, a customer came in, Jennie recognising the regular in a heartbeat. He was taller than her- but then again, quite a few people were, but not overly tall, still wearing the business suit, although the tie and blazer were absent.

He scratched a bit of stubble, and dragged out a barstool, giving her a nod. “What’ll it be Sim?” Simon was a sweet guy, really. Mid-thirties, accounting but hated it. On the other hand, he had a wife and a four-year-old daughter, so he couldn’t just drop it. Never the one to be telling the jokes, but he would laugh along all the same, and never minded being the subject of a joke or two. As long as it wasn’t about his daughter, or wasn’t too vitriolic.

“Not much Jen. I’ll have a coke. I’d love a beer, but the in-laws are visiting, and I know if I’ve so much as looked as a bottle of alcohol, they’ll try to tell me that my wife is making me an alcoholic, or some other shit like that.” He sighed deeply, and Jennie nodding sympathetically as she knelt down to get the coke out of the minifridge below the bar. She cracked the top open, shoved some ice in a Collins glass, and poured it out, dropping the entire thing in front of him with a smile.

“Enjoy the caffeine rush you get from that!”

“Thanks Jen.” He took a slow sip and sighed deeply, the bartender going back to idly fidgeting. Then, a familiar face cropped up at the door, attached to a body that had to stoop to get inside the bar
.
“Hey Manny. I could hear you playing from here.”

“That was the hope!” The fiddler beamed a little bit and set his violin case down in a booth, stretching out a little bit. Hard to do, but he managed, hands patting down onto the table in a mediocre rhythm. Despite its name, the Beat didn’t always make one a percussionist, and man oh man was he grateful for that.

Bumbadabumbada- “Hey, do you mind maybe not doing that? Sorry bud.” Simon turned to him and gave him a pleading look, and if Manny was on thing, that was king of compromise.

“Yeah, sure, it’s no biggie. Say, Jennie, what you doing after work? I’ve got some stuff from my friend, if you’re up for that.”

Jennie looked up at him and gave a resounding shrug. “I got a show on tonight, probably not the best time. If you hang onto it though, I’ll check it out maybe tomorrow, maybe in a few days. See what it’s worth.”

“Fine by me. Not like the stuff rots or anything.” He said it without sarcasm, but that was the way of things he supposed. He had made a fair ol’ stack of change from just this morning- he had gotten real lucky and someone had dropped him a tenner, and whilst it was a pain to get his money in loose change, he had made enough to grab a drink here and enjoy the rest of the day without worrying. “Got any fresh stuff from the…” He rolled his eyes. “Microbreweries in today?” He sounded like a hipster saying that.

“Nothing’s changed. Boss says we should be getting some fresh kegs and bottles in later in the week.”

“Remind me, what do you guys have again for drinks?”

“Stout, Pale, Lager, Pilsner. The stout’s the strongest, the lager is the weakest. Weird, not normally that way, but that it is.”

“I’ll take the pilsner.” He nodded at Jennie, who returned the nod and clinked down a bottle onto the table. Off went the top, and she half-topped up a glass.

“German or American?” She waggled the bottle and looked at him expectantly.

“American. Smaller head.”

With that done, the bar was still… Remarkably quiet. She wondered who’ be walking through the door next. Hopefully someone to beak the monotony.

Glenn Strivelyn

Glenn was sitting on the bed in his studio apartment, glaring at what he'd been sculpting. It was wrought of clay, with wings. Apart from that, it was rather grotesque. Its chest appeared to be caved in, revealing a ribcage made of shattered teeth. Its head was shaped like a goblet, with clumps of felt hair hanging from the scalp. Its face was not something you could ever describe as human. Surrounding it were small copies of it, made of visible distortion. They each made a small noise, swelling to create the beat he was hearing.

After glaring at it a little longer he gives it a solid punch, fist sinking deep into its curled leg. Far from ruining it, it seemed to make it more grotesque. He wipes the clay stuck on his hand onto his pants, grabs a few ziplock bags with weed in, and heads to the pub. He was hoping he'd run into someone he knows, or some wine.

He walks across the slightly trashy garden. He thinks the trashiness gives it charm. There's one plant that looks as if its weeping when it rains. He'd need to sculpt it one day. Glenn pushes open the unremarkable door, to find the space inside rather empty. The rush would start soon, then.

He walks over to the bar. Jennie's bartending tonight, and Manny's sipping one of those expensive cycling beers they have here. Microbreweries, they call them. Glenn reckoned it was bullshit. He sat on a bar stool, and decided he'd buy himself some wine.

He slid some money across the counter, "I'll take a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, if you have one. One of my sculptures sold, so I'm treating myself tonight. How're you two doing?". The fact that he didn't really stop talking signaled that he was in a good mood tonight.

Chewing subconsciously upon his pen cap, Alexander remained in intense focus not even noticing his rough top knot had fallen to pieces allowing strands of his smooth onyx locks to cascade upon his face. He was lost to another dimension – He called it Pripyat – where the city was taken by the trees and no one else lived there. It was when he was there that he could focus on The Beat and his work. The idle pulsations of electronic music surging through his system. Back in the real world, Nicole his colleague had spent the last thirty seconds clicking her fingers next to Alexander’s ear to get his attention until finally she dips her fingers in his now disgustingly cold coffee before flicking the wet substance into his face. It caused Alexander Mitchells to startle from his thoughts, vision returning to the real world where he had idly been drawing on his pad rather than working on what he was meant too.

“It’s almost six o’clock Alex, go home.” Nicole, a youthful personal assistant always made sure Alexander looked after himself. He was always careless when it came to himself only work and making every opportunity his own mattered, it was his drive. A merit and a flaw. Sighing softly, he looked down at the completely ruined pen cap riddled with his teeth marks before picking it up and throwing it towards his trash can which comically had a basketball hoop attached to it – always the child. Standing upright he felt multiple joints crack and adjust to new weight applied to them once more directly causing a satisfied groan of pleasure to part his lips. Folding his notepad over and throwing it into his drawer before picking up his keys, key card and phone he began to leave.

Taking one last look over his office, the centre of his empire as he called it looked beautiful and clean. Nicole had done well to train him out of his messy habits, his mother would be oh so proud. Satisfied with his achievements today Alex would flick his wrist causing all lights to shut off simultaneously while all doors would lock themselves with magnet technology. “I need a drink.” He says to the resounding ‘silence’ around him. He hadn’t heard true silence in months, not with the constant music playing within his cranium. He felt at first, he was at an unrelenting cacophonous rave, but he noticed that depending on mood and motion, the soundtrack to his day would shift slightly to coincide. He was the star of his own movie with his own soundtrack.

Deciding he needed a drink, he knew of only one place to go. It was a boutique borderline dive bar in the lower part of the metro wedged between two apartment complexes. Oddly enough these complexes were uniquely different one for the wealthy and one for the well… poor. It amused him to see the dynamic there and honestly, he preferred the relaxed atmosphere comparable to the upmarket sophisticated shark tanks he was socially required to attend every now and then. He hated the upper class, loved the money but hated the people. He contemplated all of these thoughts as he casually exited the building, stopping briefly to grasp his full face matte black helmet with tinted visor and black protective jacket.

Exiting the building, almond coloured iris’ cast across the underground carpark to find only his prized vehicle left in its place. The Yamaha YZF-R1 in custom onyx with metallic Byzantium purple tint stood proud and clean. He hoped it was a lovely night to ride.

The sound of his modified exhaust rumbled loudly echoing across buildings as he let his baby run as she was intended too. A cursory glance at his speedometer would reveal he was rushing through empty streets at 120 MP/H and he loved it. He loved the sound that rumbled through the engine between his legs while it amalgamated with the Beat. It psyched him up. Taking a left turn, Alex decreased his speed as he approached the carpark of the cheaper apartment block. Ignoring the spots, he rode his bike up the pathway and parked it across from the unkept excuse for a garden. He was here every so often to visit Glenn. His weed was some of the best he had toked and occasionally he had some fucking rock solid MDMA tabs. Was also talented in the arts too, perhaps he would commission a peace for his office.

Turning off his bike with but a look at the ignition switch he kicked the stand and locked her in place. Taking off his helmet slowly before placing it upon his seat. His hair was slightly damp, and it clung to his face, but that ride was worth it. Unzipping his protective coat as he walked across the garden path that was overrun with grass and weeds towards the bar. Removing his coat, Alexander’s attire looked rather plain. He preferred conventional over extravagant. He wore a three-quarter sleeved black button down into black slacks and black oxford shoes. A brown leather banded watch with a patina upon it’s face resided on his left wrist – a gift from his father. Pushing open the door slowly allowing his eyes to adjust while a smile crept upon his lips. She was here. “Hello munchkin.” He calls out coolly towards the bartender – Jennie Yates. They knew each other from collage but hadn’t seen each other since she dropped out. Taking a seat at the bar, fingertips patting Glenn’s shoulder in greeting as he does so. “I’ll take a pale ale if you’ve got any and your number.” He said with a wink, obviously falling into previously jovial jokes. “Kidding, it’s nice to see you though.”

Brandon started his day, as he often did, with a quick 5K, followed by another session of the Wim Hof Method: heavy hyperventilation until his head started feeling fuzzy, almost luminous; expelling all the air from his lungs and holding as long as he could; inhaling as much as he could, then performing pushups until he could no longer hold his breath. Then, repeat, replacing the pushups with a yoga pose. He preferred downward dog, but any would do. He'd go over that cycle again and again until his entire body felt vibrant, then wrap up with a cold shower. All of this set him up for another great day.

Not least of this was the fact that today was a little bit less action-packed than usual. On any given day, he could expect to indulge in English, Engineering, Gymnastics, Dance, and Squash, in some combination or another; today, Squash and Engineering weren't involved, meaning he was left with a couple of extra hours free post-Gym to chat with his family, and then to do something with some of his college friends. They, of course, were always upset that he didn't go out so much with them beyond a certain time; he claimed it was best that they all get an appropriate amount of sleep. For Brandon, of course, that was about four hours, but they didn't need to know that. Besides, crime never slept, no matter what time of day it was.

He also knew he couldn't destroy all crime in one day. Nor could he pull it off if he was constantly wired. So, he had to relax sometimes. Ironically, one of the best places to do that was the bar sandwiched between his apartment complex and the larger, more expensive complex on the bar's other side; so many of the inhabitants of both apartment buildings found themselves there on a regular basis that it was easily the best spot to socialise in for somebody of his means, even if he didn't approve of how many substances found their way into the bodies of many patrons.

That wasn't going to stop him from flouncing into the building with a smile on his lips, though. Jennie was always quite a cool cat, even if she never seemed to slow down - and it seemed a lot of others were here too. Manny, Glenn, even Mister Rich-guy Alexander himself.

'Eeeevening, folks!' he called to everyone, not expecting too much of a reply back from any of them. 'How're y'all doin' today? Good, good? Goooood.' With his introduction made, Brandon took a seat at the bar, asking Jennie for 'The usual' once she got round to serving him - just a Diet Pepsi, in his case. Something a lot of people didn't know was that whilst Pepsi was designed to be drunk cold, Coca-Cola was actually intended to be drunk at room temperature, which was why their flavours differed somewhat when both were chilled.

Glenn Strivelyn

Glenn knew it. He had just beaten the rush hour. The pub filled up quickly, and a few people he knew were among them.

The first one here was Alex. No doubt he'd just sped here from his work after overworking himself. He came here when he could. He didn't say a word to Glenn, but touched him on the back. He attempted to flirt with Jennie, to which Glenn rakishly waggled his eyebrows. He took a sip of wine, savoring every drop and aroma available. He sloshed the deep red liquid in the glass, gazing into his reflection. He noticed that it wasn't quite the appropriate glass. He wasn't quite enough of a prick that he'd demand the right one, but he was seriously thinking about it.

He turned his head to face Alex, and in his Irish slur, let the words on his mind spill out; "How do you feel about... practicing tonight. I have a few new signatures in mind, and I'd like some company.". No later than the words had been put to air than the uptight cunt Brandon walked in. He took some paper out of his pocket, wrote down a time and a place, and slipped the note into Alex's pocket. "Be there.".

Glenn reckoned that Brandon had a stick stuck so far up his vag he'd need it to be surgically removed. Glenn visibly cringed when he made that elongated "Eeeeevening folks!". His optimistic thoughts brought thoughts of destruction to Glenn's mind, if only to prove him wrong. That being said, he wasn't too bad to hang around if you weren't drinking or doing drugs. Quite pleasant, actually. Glenn raised his glass by way of greeting, taking a sip on the way back down. "Can't get drunk off Diet Pepsi, Brandon. Grow a pair and drink up.", you could tell he was only half-joking. He followed with another half-joke, "Hey, I got a gift for you. It's green and plant based, so it's safe. Safer than that Diet Pepsi, anyway. You seen the fucked up shit they put in that?".

@BCTheEntity @EvenGODSfall

---

Grits had just woken up from a short nap, ready to greet the world with a half-decent demeanor, when he hauled his figure into the shower. He turned on the water, feeling it with his left hand as he supported himself on the wall with his right. It was ice cold, so he turned the single temperature knob closer to the H, being careful to creep slowly higher along the temperature to not burn his hand. When it stopped moving, it was barely warm enough to satisfy him, but he got in even though it would only be colder from here. When, halfway through his cleansing, the heat gave out, he pounded a fist on the wall, turned off the shower, and cursed it to high hell as he used his sink’s water to finish rinsing the shampoo out of his hair. “Useless goddamn hunk o’ schitt.”

Grits needed a drink. He dried himself off with one of his two towels, tossing it to the side of his bathroom haphazardly, and without a care. It was his bathroom, after all, and he’d clean it up when he damn well pleased. He threw on an old Hawaiian, slipped into some khakis, and put on his favorite pair of worn-out, cement-eaten shoes. They were his walking shoes, of course, and he didn’t have a spare pair anyway. It took him longer than it should have to locate his coat (it had been draped along the back of his recliner, as per usual), giving his hair enough time to fully dry. His keys were in the same spot as his glasses, so there was no trouble there.

Grits had trouble opening his door, not because of a faulty lock, but because he didn’t realize he had the deadbolt still in place. In his frustrated attempt to open the door, he almost ripped the lock out of the wall, only catching himself after loosening it. He mumbled some obscenities under his breath but took note that he’d have to fix it when he got home. Anyone stupid enough to rob him while he was gone would get what was coming to them, anyway. Already irked, he slammed the door behind him, no doubt causing more damage to its frame. The walk to his water hole was short, he’d been going there ever since he moved in a couple of years back. Friendly enough crowd, but it was more about convenience.

Grits entered the bar like an elephant trying to sneak into Buckingham Palace – he didn’t announce himself, but he swung open the door while muttering about how something or another was a complete joke. He shut his mouth as he waltzed into the place, remembering his anger management training, and trying to avoid screaming at someone who didn’t deserve it. He waved in the general direction of the patrons – less a wave, and more of an arm wave to symbolize the gesture. He plunked himself at a barstool at the end of the bar, and let out a sigh of relief. “I’ll have a, uh… schitt, just gimme a water.” He’d come here for a drink, but he knew he shouldn’t be drinking. He’d managed to stay dry for a year or so – the Beat couldn’t save his liver – but he still frequented the place out of habit. It was a routine, of sorts – come for a drink, remember that he needs to stay clean, order a water, get irritated, go out, do all the same stuff a drunkard would do, then go home to repeat it all (except on Thursdays, when his routine was changed slightly to accommodate his love for Mexican cuisine). He listened to the other patrons, but didn’t offer anything much of his own to the conversation, again recalling his anger management training.

Mahlik started his morning off early with a job that he received through his notification by text on his phone. A basic delivery job. nothing big, just a shady sum-bitch from postal services requesting to have delivered some shit that he didn't want the regular postal workers to deliver. Some...under the table job which, Mahlik didn't want to do but screw it, money was fine. Was it drugs, tech, anything illegal? Mahlik didn't want to know because the moment he did, would determine whether he'd take the job or not.

This delivery was to be taken to the slums. An 18x14x4 size box that was not really heavy but left the young man curious of the contents inside. The beat...something he still could not get out of his head, was in a constant loop. Not that it was annoying, it's just that was mostly what he heard at times, not paying attention to words of others.

Using his gravity manipulation in his weight, Mahlik started off with a nice super jump to the roof postal building to get to the destination faster than to deal with traffic. Didn't take him too long to jump from building to building, getting some distance, traveling about 3-4 miles away taking about close to 20 minutes to get to where he needed to be.

Landing at the destination, Mahlik jumped down off the top of the roof, lighting his weight to slow his fall and landed gently to the ground. Looking around to see if anyone saw him, Mahlik straightened his clothing and took a deep breath before walking to an open section next to the building where a group of guys were playing basketball. Mahlik walked up to the group, who numbered about 6.


The guys stopped playing and stared Mahlik down. The one with the white doo-rag spoke spoke. "The fuck do you want?"

Mahlik looked at all the men there. Yeah..uh...I'm with Zero Gravity Deliveries...got a package for you.

"Put that shit on the ground and back the fuck up..."

Damn...what, you gonna jump me or somethin'?

"Man just shut the fuck up and put the box on the ground!"

Well I need someone to sign this shit first... The guy sighed with annoyance and walked over and signed on Mahlik's phone. Yeah...the package may have illegal stuff inside but...Mahlik was still trying to be professional. After the guy signed for it. Mahlik looked at the men who seemed as if they wanted to beat his ass for simply showing up in their turf. The lead guy spoke once more. "Aight, there. Now get the fuck outta here!"

Mahlik simply nodded and looked away for a moment. With that, Mahlik kicked that package he delivered as fast and as hard as he could. Fuck your box!!! he yelled out before turning to run while the thugs started running after him.

This was typical. Mahlik couldn't keep himself out of trouble. If someone gave him a hard time, he was tempted to give them a hard time as well. Of course, he'd use his powers to get away from them but he was going to have to stay away from that slums for a little while.

Bar had filled up fast. Sim had tapped out quickly, nodding at her and then vanishing out of the door, but many more regulars were filling up the bar, along with people just stopping in for a drink. Glenn was up first, one of the more mopey patrons normally, but he was in a good mood. White wine was kept chilled, so she uncorked a fresh bottle and let it glug out. She was hardly a sommelier here, but she had handled alcohol for a long time. Two glass, she slid them across, recorking the bottle with a reusable stopper, and putting it back into the fridge. "Yeah, things are pretty good. Hanging on to this last bit before I go and party." She chuckled. "I'm looking forward to turntabling again. Especially in the non-culinary sense."

Then came... Huh. That was a blast from the past. Alexander, Alexander, Alexander. They had been an item when she was studying, but had lost contact after she had dropped out. Now he was back here. "If I recall Alex, we ended up splitting. You probably still have my number." Stooping down again to the fridge, she popped out one of the microbrewery stuff and cracked the top. Tipped it out, letting the head settle out, and down onto the table it went. Things were moving fast, damn. She might need a coworker if things got this busy consistently.

Then flounced Brandon. He was decent enough, albeit about as camp as was possible to get, but he didn't care for her, and that cooled her attitude towards him in turn. His usual. Almost what Sim had had. Pepsi, the bartender tossing it behind her back, channelling through her just for a second to let her catch it on one finger, then letting it fall into her palm, where she tapped the bottlecap a few times, then opened it.

"Glenn, stop trying to stir up bullshit. I ain't got time for it today. Brandon wants to drink a diet pepsi, he wants a diet pepsi. You put double the amount of shit into yourself anyway." She pointedly looked at him, the glass of wine, and the fact that she knew he was undercutting her on MDMA. It was almost funny that there were three different drug dealers all chatting right now, but hey, life was life. Her voice was jovial enough, but also with that tinge of seriousness which was Jennie-code for 'I'll smack you if you don't shut up.' The regulars knew it.

Then came an unusual figure. Much older than the rest of the regular. Grits. Old school. Seemed kinda miserable nowadays, she felt for him a bit, even if he was the fittest man his age that she had ever known. "Hey Grits. Good day? Bad day?" Tap water was free, so there was that at least. Lord knows how the guy pulled in cash nowadays- maybe his old music was still selling.

She checked the clock on the wall. Half an hour had vanished. Cmon, cmoon! After she had hit the club, she wanted to hit the streets as well. Her 'costume,' if you could call a differently-coloured motorcycle jumpsuit and modified helmet a costume, was inside a gym bag in the employee only-area.

He didn't hate Jennie, contrary to what some might imagine. He just felt she could do with learning how to cool off a little at times. How could a human being always be on like that, constantly? Even with his Beat pounding through his head constantly, inspiring him to feats of immense heroism, Brandon always found time to take a breather, because he knew he'd break down later on if he didn't. Regardless, he thanked her for handing him the drink, only to hear Glenn's suggestion as he sipped that he have some alcohol, followed by Jennie's rebuttal of his statement.

Glenn, when he wasn't out of his mind on whatever he'd gotten high on that day, was a fairly nice guy in his own right. He always insisted that Brandon do or perceive some things differently, though - have something alcoholic to drink, try some pot, and don't you know how many chemicals are in cola? He knew it wasn't the healthiest drink in the world, but it was a damn sight better than rendering oneself stupid with pot, or God forbid sipping on the calorie-sodden lard that most alcoholic drinks essentially were. He had a figure to maintain, thank you.

'Glenn, dear, I appreciate your concerns and offers,' Brandon promptly assured him, 'but as a lot of women say, it's my body and my right to choose.' He capped his sentence with a slightly sardonic giggle - he was a white man, in a society where white men had a far easier time of things than just about any other social group, and all things considered had no right to actually use that phrase. How amusing that he could choose to do so anyway, then.

And not long after that exchange, Grits finally showed up. 'Griiits, it's so good to see you!' he exclaimed; the old timer was a lot grouchy, but at the same time, he was so interesting. And a recovering alcoholic, which meant he probably shouldn't be in here, but still... 'How've you been, friend?' Brandon asked with a big grin. 'Everything going smoothly? You making sure you don't keel over? Who am I kidding, you look amazing, as usual, heheh.'

---

“Decent day. Thanks for askin’ kid.” Grits murmured back to Jennie as she passed along his tap water. Honestly, it tasted the same as it did as home, so it wasn’t like he had to leave to get halfway decent water, but he was a creature of habits. He slid a dollar toward the bartender, the most he could spare for a tip, and gave a half-nod as he downed the glass. It didn’t burn at all. It was water. It was boring. Boring was worse than bad, he thought, and it made him scowl at the few droplets which remained on the glass.

While Grits’ interpretation of the Beat was the most irritating thing that he could imagine, there were a few sounds that came close. “Smooth as they can go.” Grits gave the response abruptly, with his conscious effort to remain patient tinting the words. Sure, Grits shouldn’t have been in a bar, but what excuse did Brandon have? Had he come to berate the other patrons? It was entertaining, to say the least, but Grits had never been one for self-discipline.

“It’s good you stay dry, kid. These drinks can really mess you up.” The words were genuine, but still stained with signature Grits grit. “Still, makes a man wonder why you hang out in a bar. Schitt, if I didn’t know better I’d say you came here to sweep ol’ Grits off his feet with that compliment of yours.” Grits was very deadpan in his delivery, being the type to internalize a laugh rather than share it with others. He was straight to the point when he spoke despite not knowing too much about Brandon beyond his attitude. He turned his body to face him a bit more seriously, but didn’t expect to keep the conversation very long. He’d had his glass, and he wasn’t big on chatter nowadays. But he figured he’d entertain the guy, since he’d approached him. Didn’t change the fact that Grits thought he had a very punchable face, but he kept that under wraps. Grits wasn’t the most menacing figure, slouched as he was, but he was big. His face showed a tired sort of interest, but his eyes were prepped to judge behind his glasses.

Glenn rolled hs eyes at Brandon. He musn't have understood how insufferable he could be. He managed to get on Glenn's nerves rather regularly. Infinite optimism, strangely enough, waned Glenn's faith in humanity. On the other hand, wine restored it. He took a sip, savouring the drops. The glass was almost empty, mirroring Glenn's patience. Maybe if he drew the last sip out, his patience would last longer.

It didn't take very long for Mahlik to lose the fuckers who were chasing after him. That was quite the norm for the young man. Every now and then, he would have to engage in a fight or two but nothing major. Just running into those guys reminded him of some of the vigilantism he's done on the side lately. Just....fighting muggers and thugs who looked shady. Maybe even pimps and small time drug dealers. But...even Mahlik knew that sooner or later, his antics would get the attention of bigger fish.

Not long ago, Mahlik ran into someone like him. Someone with the beat power. Someone who could bop just like him. A dude named Glenn. He was okay as long as he didn't mouth off to Mahlik, which in all honestly, was everytime they've met. Regardless, if there was anyone that Mahlik could trust, it was him. Pulling out his phone and sitting on the edge of a building, Mahlik called Glenn, since he managed to get his number after their first team up. he wanted to see if Glenn was in the mood for delivering ass whoopins to ones that deserved it. Mahlik dialed and waited for Glenn to answer. Come on, man. Pick up....

The old, but nigh indestructible phone in Glenn's pocket started letting off a low buzz. He placed his glass down, then checked who was calling him. He didn't receive calls very often. Not too much to his surprise, it was Mahlik. He was alright in Glenn's books. Somewhat irritating on occasion, but then again, who isn't. He had his moments, though. Plus, Glenn actually trusted him, which was a welcome, but strange feeling. Mahlik was probably calling to meet up, so Glenn took the last sip of patience. What use was it now he'd be leaving? "Mahlik? You called at a good time, I just finished the last of my wine. What's going on, man?"

Hearing Glenn's voice on the other side brought a smirk to Mahlik's lips. Perhaps this was a good timing because he had something in mind that would need immediate care. Yo....G! Ey...same ol' same ol' bullshit. You up for some action? I just saw that Fuckboy we took down 2 weeks ago. You know, the wannabe pimp/weapons trafficker. Somehow he's back out in the streets. But this time...seems he got more help. And from what I saw...it ain't new guns. Mahlik mentioned while looking around. Are you down? If you are, I need you to meet me at 'Tha Spot'.

Mahlik started blurting words this way and that, Glenn was only just able to keep up. "That little shit? How did he get back up? We need to make sure he stays down this time. Got a few new signatures that might come in handy, too. Meet you in about 20 minutes, man.". He rubbed his face, hung up, then turned to Alex and said, "Yeah, sorry buddy. Something important has come up".

He crossed the sticky bar floor, pushing past anyone in his way and not paying attention to the objections to his actions. Opening the door, he broke into a run into the light city night.

Was Glenn willing to join this and finish this guy they once went after? Mahlik made an expressive smirk on his face knowing that Glenn was ready to take this guy down again. Now that's what's up! See you then. Mahlik stood up feeling good about this second go on this guy. Sounded like Glenn had a few new tricks just like with Mahlik wanting to try something else out. Jumping down and slowing his fall, Mahlik, upon landing, rushed to their usual meet up spot across from the park.

Collab with: @Strange Rodent

Wow the bar had gotten full fast. Lots of people streaming in. Glenn, Brandon, the old guy, Grits, and some guy he hadn't seen before, but was flirting with the bartender. He was about to tell him to cut it out when Jennie revealed that he was an old pal, and so he leant back. Fairly jovial atmosphere in the bar here, sure, a little tension here and there, but it was still all good in his book. Drumming his fingers against the countertop, he let his mind drift off with the Beat for a little while, the music flowing around his head in a chorus of strings.

"Hey Brandon. How's it going man. You buttering everyone up, or just Grits?" Manny let a smile play off his face, and he took a long draught of his drink. Brandon was... Interesting. He was incredibly camp, incredibly camp, that much was for sure, but was he a bad guy? Debatable. Could be a bit of a pain sometimes, much like the new guy was being. Alex, Jennie had called him. He was interesting. Looked like a rich guy, walked like one too. Leaning forward, he studied the other man for a half-second.

"You got some interesting vibes man." Oh yeah, he could be stereotypical if he wanted to be, and weren't nothing more stereotypical than a hippie-looking guy with braids in his hair talking about vibes. "What brings you here then? Don't look like the kind of guy to be visiting a little hole-in-the-wall watering pool place like this" At least he had good taste in alcohol, that much was for sure.

@BCTheEntity@EvenGODSFall