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Entry tags:

ares,
goliath

(no subject)

Characters: Ares and Goliath
Date/Time: Saturday night, 8/24
Location: A dive bar somewhere in Montana
Rating: Probably gonna be an R here.
Warnings: Cursing and violence, of course.
Summary: Two big guys who solve disagreements by hitting things. What could go wrong?

The place was further out than he usually roamed but Ares figured that a change wouldn't kill him. Besides, his temper had recently appeared again and the flare-ups had resulted in his banishment from two of his favorite local bars. So, in an attempt to still find the sort of low-class, laid-back comfort he craved, he and his trusty Jeep had driven out beyond his usual rounds to find a pleasantly smokey bar that clearly fell under the classifications of dive and biker-bar and dubious health inspection report card.

He liked it.

He liked it even more as he sprawled at the bar with a cold beer in his hand, listened to the sound of tinny Led Zepplin played over the jukebox, and watched the game develop at the pool table in the corner. Idly, he toyed with the idea of scrounging a cigarette off someone.

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Nothing wrong with being polite. Goliath returned the gesture. "Jake." He looked over at the game of pool. "So who's winning?"

"Don't know. The whole thing's pretty terrible," he admitted. "I haven't seen a single decent shot since they started."

"So the betting pool would be more about who gets the ball in the hole in one shot first?" Jacob asked snarkily. "Shit, get some women in there, then at least you wouldn't care if they sucked."

"Man..." Ares smirked, broad and amused, as he leaned back against the bar. He jerked his chin a bit to indicate the rest of the room. "Look around you. Do you see a single nice set of breasts in this place? I'm not talking Junior over there at the jukebox and his manboobs."

"Ugh," Jake said with a crinkled face. "I did not need that image in my head."

"You're welcome." Turning his head, Lukas signaled the bartender again. "Two whiskeys. Whatever you got." When the two glasses arrived, he pushed one towards Jake. He raised an eyebrow. It was silent man-code for "sorry, man."

Jake shrugged once in a "no big" way before accepting the glass.

"Hey, what the hell!? You've sucked all this time, and now I'm supposed to believe you're getting lucky!?" Apparently it was getting animated at the pool table.

The raised voices pulled Lukas straighter in his seat and half of the lazy sprawl evaporated to be replaced with a tense alertness. He said nothing, though, only reached for his whiskey and sipped it. His dark eyes focused more closely on the group at the pool table.

Jake turned slightly to see what was going on. He did enjoy a good fight.

"I'm telling you, I'm just on a lucky streak!"

"You're freaking scamming me!"

A couple of guys stood up at that.

"I am not!"

Several stood up in defense of the accused.

"Oh, this looks good." Lukas's smile had gone a bit predatory and he downed the rest of his drink before setting it down on the bar with a barely heard clink. He drew himself further upright and leaned forward a bit to prop his elbows on his knees.

"I think you should get the hell out of here. Rules of the house. No hustling."

"I'm not goddamn hustling!"

Jake had been about to comment when one of the accuser's friends threw a bottle at the accused. The man ducked in time only for the bottle to fly over and smack into Goliath's face, knocking his head back. There was a deafening quiet from the other patrons. Goliath slowly tilted his face forward. While it was covered with spilled beer and a couple glass shards, but save for a few minor cuts, he was unharmed. He exhaled a deep breath through his nose that sounded almost like the snort of a bull. He reached into his pocket, producing his wallet. Calmly he took out a pair of hundred dollar bills and handed them to the bartender.

"For what I'm about to do," he said simply before standing up, grabbing his stool with one hand and flinging it at the guy who had thrown the beer bottle.

Well, this was definitely one way to spend an evening. His grin spreading into something even more wolfish, Lukas had already left his own stool and was rolling up his sleeves when his new acquaintance flung the bit of furniture. That way, when one of the brawlers associated him with the giant and came at him, he was more than ready.

His fist connected squarely with the miscreant's jaw and sent him to the floor. "Goddammit, boys," Ares laughed. "You fight as piss-poor as you shoot pool."

"Come here you little shit!" Two of the thugs ran at Jake. He hauled off with a backhand, sending one flying across the room before grabbing the other one by the neck. Lifting him up one-handed, he chucked the man forward, causing him to land on the pool table. He grabbed a beer bottle. "Let's see how you handle a bottle to the face!"

It seemed the addition of Jake and Lukas changed the dynamics of the fight and, without any kind of discussion, the two previously feuding parties agreed to make the big men the mutual enemy.

Which was just peachy with Lukas. It made it easier when pretty much everyone in the room was a target for a fist.

That said, he pivoted to grab the wrist attached to another attempted punch and he pulled hard. The man sailed over his hip easily and landed on the floor with a painful-sounding crack.

Jake's leg came up, kicking an attacker full in the face, breaking the man's nose. He grabbed the cue-stick and started swinging it at anybody who got near him.

"C'mon, Tinkerbelle!" He yelled at attackers. "I thought you wanted to start some shit!"

"Looks like they're too damn chickenshit." Lukas smirked at the suddenly much more wary attackers. Then he lifted a hand in a classic "come at me" gesture. "Come on, kids. Now or never."

A groan drifted up from the man prone at Lukas' feet. Without looking, he lashed out with his foot. The heel of his boot connected solidly with a jawbone. A crack sounded and the man went limp.

The thugs seemed to gl;ance at each other for several moments before one finally spoke.

"Fuck this!" He took off for the exit. The rest soon followed after him.

Goliath muttered before putting the beer bottle down. "That was anti-climatic."

"... Worse. That was a total cock-tease of a fight." Lukas sighed, shook his head, and turned back to the bartender who blinked at him. "Are you gonna call the cops?" he demanded.

The bartender hesitated for only a split second and then he shook his head firmly. "No, sir. Not me." He picked up the bills on the bartop. "I'd say you paid your way to some fun. It's just fine."

Turning away, he poured two more whiskeys and slid them across to Lukas and Jake. Lukas grinned, lifted his in salute, and knocked it back. "Good," he said. "Good, man, good."

"Friggin' a," Goliath muttered, accepting the drink. "Oh well, is what it is," he said with a shrug, cracking his neck a little.

"Yep. Fun while it lasted." Rolling his shoulders, the other man settled back onto his stool. "So... You from around here, Jake?"

He shook his head. "Cape Cod in Massachusetts. I was here for a bit of a gathering." He indicates the colors on his jacket, that of the Hell's Angels.

"Ah, gotcha." Nodding, Lukas rotated his glass in his hand. "Thought I knew the logo. Hell of a distance to go, really, but it's club business so it is what it is." He paused. "I'm out here in Montana, myself, and, you know, this is going to sound really strange but you seem damn familiar. Have we ever met before?"

Jake looked over at him with a questioning look before a lightbulb went off in his head. He looked to make sure the bartender couldn't hear.

"Not personally, though I think we chatted on a certain supernatural chat page awhile back."

"... Yeah, there we go. Small world." Lukas sat back a bit more on his stool and sighed. Then he offered a crooked wry smile. "Ares," he added in a low undertone.

"Goliath," he replied equally.

"Looks like we really do have the same tastes in things," he chuckled. "Eh, whatever. At least I know you're not going to look down on me for this."

"I'm 6'9, I look down on almost everybody," he replied with dry humor.

"Funny. Hilarious, even. How long you in Montana?"

"I know, I shouldn't quit my day job. Probably two more days before I head out again."

"Yeah, I can't see how sticking around a place like this compares to club duties back east." He shrugged. "Still, small world, huh? It's good to meet you."

"Well at the very least I plan on hitting that strip club in town before I leave." He extends his hand to the other man. "Likewise."

Two big hands met in a firm shake that tested but avoided being overly obnoxious about exerting testosterone and manhood. Then Ares smirked. "Don't hit the club tonight," he cautioned. "Tomorrow night has better looking girls."

"Heh, I'll keep that in mind." After the handshake he gets up. "I get the feeling we'll see each other again, but take care in the meantime."

"You're probably right. Can't swing a cat in this country anymore without hitting one of us. But, y'know, I think it'll be fine. If nothing else, I know you can hold your own." Ares made a vague gesture to the devastation surrounding them and gave a cruel smirk again. "Drive safe out there, Jake. I'll see you around."

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