@Blackstripe I'm ready whenever y'all are.
The Whacko Member
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1:35 PM, O'Mallory's Irish Pub, Gotham City - November 3rd, 2019
The wails of woe from the gathered Fae and the mortal patrons were deafening in the bar as Ives went down like a sack of bricks, and Clayton couldn't help but grin as he watched Hayes standing triumphant in the ring while the announcer declared him the new champ. He felt a twinge of pity for whatever poor son of a bitch was managing the Fae Queen of Gotham's chosen champion, thinking of the torments an hexes that Queen Barenziah would throw his way.
"Well," he though, downing the last of his mug of Miller before he started toward Gillespie, who was fuming at the towering Human lumbering towards him. "That's his fault for getting involved with Elves."
"Don' ye look at me all smug an' superior, boyo." The Leprechaun growled out at Clayton, teeth clenched together so tightly he might have been making diamonds out of that crooked scowl. "Yer fookin' boy got lucky. It ain't gonna happen again."
"What, the Queen gonna break his legs? Toss an impotence hex on him? Wouldn't be very smart of her to go after a big, public figure like that." Clayton said, his deep, rumbling voice giving away no hint at the satisfaction he felt. "I'm sure The Master would just love to have an excuse to deal with her. Or hell, maybe that supernatural FBI task force."
That wiped the scowl off the Fae's face, though he still grumbled angrily under his breath as he started to fish around under the counter. Most of the smaller Fae never quite got used to their glamours, the way it so drastically increased their size, made it hard for them coordinate. A moment later Gillespie practically slammed the small lockbox down on the counter, pulling out a thick wad of bills and slapping it down on the counter before Clayton. The big man pocketed the money with a smile.
"Hope ya choke an' die on it."
"Not likely. Be too clean a way for me to go, with my job." He paused for a moment, fishing the coin out of his pocket again. He looked over that worn, battered surface for a long moment before he spoke up. "Barenziah know this came up?"
"Why the fook should she? It's jus' a tricket, lad. Little bit left over from t'e old days. Ain't not'in' to ruffle her feat'ers over."
"Or a sign that the most evil bitch the Unseelie ever had is back." Clayton thought to himself, stuffing the coin back into his pocket and starting out the door. Tommy would be waiting back home, and he needed a little help with the calculus. Playing the role of father was almost as hard as being a supernatural gumshoe, but it was far more satisfying.
He decided they'd need some ice cream before they got started on the boy's math.
The wails of woe from the gathered Fae and the mortal patrons were deafening in the bar as Ives went down like a sack of bricks, and Clayton couldn't help but grin as he watched Hayes standing triumphant in the ring while the announcer declared him the new champ. He felt a twinge of pity for whatever poor son of a bitch was managing the Fae Queen of Gotham's chosen champion, thinking of the torments an hexes that Queen Barenziah would throw his way.
"Well," he though, downing the last of his mug of Miller before he started toward Gillespie, who was fuming at the towering Human lumbering towards him. "That's his fault for getting involved with Elves."
"Don' ye look at me all smug an' superior, boyo." The Leprechaun growled out at Clayton, teeth clenched together so tightly he might have been making diamonds out of that crooked scowl. "Yer fookin' boy got lucky. It ain't gonna happen again."
"What, the Queen gonna break his legs? Toss an impotence hex on him? Wouldn't be very smart of her to go after a big, public figure like that." Clayton said, his deep, rumbling voice giving away no hint at the satisfaction he felt. "I'm sure The Master would just love to have an excuse to deal with her. Or hell, maybe that supernatural FBI task force."
That wiped the scowl off the Fae's face, though he still grumbled angrily under his breath as he started to fish around under the counter. Most of the smaller Fae never quite got used to their glamours, the way it so drastically increased their size, made it hard for them coordinate. A moment later Gillespie practically slammed the small lockbox down on the counter, pulling out a thick wad of bills and slapping it down on the counter before Clayton. The big man pocketed the money with a smile.
"Hope ya choke an' die on it."
"Not likely. Be too clean a way for me to go, with my job." He paused for a moment, fishing the coin out of his pocket again. He looked over that worn, battered surface for a long moment before he spoke up. "Barenziah know this came up?"
"Why the fook should she? It's jus' a tricket, lad. Little bit left over from t'e old days. Ain't not'in' to ruffle her feat'ers over."
"Or a sign that the most evil bitch the Unseelie ever had is back." Clayton thought to himself, stuffing the coin back into his pocket and starting out the door. Tommy would be waiting back home, and he needed a little help with the calculus. Playing the role of father was almost as hard as being a supernatural gumshoe, but it was far more satisfying.
He decided they'd need some ice cream before they got started on the boy's math.
@Cu Chulainn He needs to have done a Premium Rush expy. For that don't remember that one...it was that shitty flick where Joseph Gordon Levitt played a bike messenger running from the Triad. :P
And first blurb for me is done :P All the goodness of the Fae included.
Might have to do a few blurbs of my own. Filling out posts with exposition about various types of Fae and other assorted supernatural assholes just seems cheap. :P
@Ceta de Cloyes Point! Well, Batman managed it how many times?
@Ceta de Cloyes Gotham DOES have Necromancer Steve Austin and son....
1:25 PM, O'Mallory's Irish Pub, Gotham City - November 3rd, 2019
Clayton hated Fae for a number of reasons. He hated their trickery, their courts and their intrigue, their arrogance toward anyone that wasn't one of their seemingly endless range of subspecies, and a hundred other things. He was hardly alone in that opinion, considering the sheer number of wars against the other supernaturals at any given times, including the in-fighting with the half-dozen courts the queens lorded over.
Right now, however, his contempt was firmly fixed on the loud, sing-song cheering of the Leprechauns and Red Caps as they spilled foaming mugs to the fight. Oh, how they loved a good boxing match, specifically the money that got tossed around when drunken Fae got swept up in the spirit of competition. He enjoyed a good boxing match, too, though his events were far quieter. His half-empty mug was forgotten when Hayes made it through the first round better than anyone had expected, much to the chagrin of the Red Caps and the Troll at the table across from him,, which only brought a smile to the big man's face.
"Put me down for another twenty on Hayes." He said almost absently, draining the rest of his mug before he looked down at the tiny silver coin he'd come down to this dingy watering hole for. He could feel the magic clinging to it's battered, scarred surface, the feminine face stamped onto it barely recognizable. He shook his head before he stuffed it into his pocket, signalling for another drink. It might have been nothing, just a trinket some little cretin had turned up among other black market artifacts, and in all likelihood that would be all.
If not? Well...it was the first sign of something wicked coming Gotham's way again.
Clayton hated Fae for a number of reasons. He hated their trickery, their courts and their intrigue, their arrogance toward anyone that wasn't one of their seemingly endless range of subspecies, and a hundred other things. He was hardly alone in that opinion, considering the sheer number of wars against the other supernaturals at any given times, including the in-fighting with the half-dozen courts the queens lorded over.
Right now, however, his contempt was firmly fixed on the loud, sing-song cheering of the Leprechauns and Red Caps as they spilled foaming mugs to the fight. Oh, how they loved a good boxing match, specifically the money that got tossed around when drunken Fae got swept up in the spirit of competition. He enjoyed a good boxing match, too, though his events were far quieter. His half-empty mug was forgotten when Hayes made it through the first round better than anyone had expected, much to the chagrin of the Red Caps and the Troll at the table across from him,, which only brought a smile to the big man's face.
"Put me down for another twenty on Hayes." He said almost absently, draining the rest of his mug before he looked down at the tiny silver coin he'd come down to this dingy watering hole for. He could feel the magic clinging to it's battered, scarred surface, the feminine face stamped onto it barely recognizable. He shook his head before he stuffed it into his pocket, signalling for another drink. It might have been nothing, just a trinket some little cretin had turned up among other black market artifacts, and in all likelihood that would be all.
If not? Well...it was the first sign of something wicked coming Gotham's way again.
@pyroman Beating up commies is pretty sweet too.
@Ceta de Cloyes If you feel like rolling a sheet for Clayton's son, works for me. Left that one pretty open far as characterization goes.
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