New in town (open)

[Max Kocourek (DELETED 5551)]

There comes a time when you just have a face facts. No one really thinks about it that way, until after the moment is gone. After the seas have parted and the ocean lie still as it possibly can. It is literally a gut feeling. The groan starts with a knot in your stomach and lump in your throat. Max used to feel this way when he stepped into the ring. Of course that was his younger years... when the crowd rumbled so loud it shook the walls. The center stage felt as if it were riding a wave.

“Common, pansy, dance.”
“Yea! Do somethin’”
“Off the cables, lazy.”
“Maybe a lick or two, he’ll be down.”
“Stick heem in the eye.”

“Ya gunna let ‘em get under your skin or ya gunna make ‘em eat their wallets.” Kirk shouted at the top of his lungs with teeth grit on an unlit cigar. Max simply nodded in reply as blood mixed with spit shot into the metal bowl.

Kirk gave the heavyweight a good lick on the back and sent him off to dance some more. “Toss em to the gutter, Max.”

Toss ‘em to the gutter. ‘em to the gutter. to the gutter… “Hey!” The bartender of The Handle Bar slammed a rock glass down to the counter. “Would you like another?”

Max blinked. Starred back to the man of thirty-one before him. “No. Thanks. Man.”

“Well, the ice sure enjoyed that top-shelf whiskey.”

He was hallucinating. The visions came and went as they pleased. The visions came more often after he completed an extensive workout, sometimes in a dream. All of them dated back to a fight. In the ring or out. Max was not a saint by any means, but seventy-five percent of the time his rounds were legit. Eighty percent of the time; if you counted the ones that deserved it. He was born to be a fighter. It was instinct and size. Conditioning bulked up his muscles (as did a few run ins with steroids) but he was light on his feet and always ready for a swing or two. Max won the fight against Pueblo in 1999. Fifteen years ago, yet still fresh in mind sometimes.

This was his second time frequenting the bar after an evening in Sully’s Gym. He was not really sure what he would find, but it was a small portion of sanity to hold onto. He was still adjusting to this lifestyle, if any called it that. He glanced over his shoulder then turned his back to the bar. He kinda hoped someone would get a little rowdy. Maybe knock in a few heads or three. The closest thing he got in the passing months was wandering through the slums nearby. A few local gang members were already slumped around a corner table. They looked as if they owned the place. Max didn’t care. He was a big dude with new diggs. A little remedy was all he needed to keep up with routine.

At six foot four inches tall, arms bent awkwardly at his side rather than straight like most men are. His waist swayed in the walk to the well-used jukebox. He preferred these. His thumb pressed the navigation buttons until he came across an all time favorite jam. He dropped a few coins into the glass box, pressed corresponding combination for AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” - A19. He stood there for a moment, listening to the rapid beginning of the tune.

[Mkvenner]

It was a fairly quiet night for Ven. It often was, really, seeing as the bar he owned wasn't still technically open for business at yet. People did still insist on coming in off the street for a drink, though, despite the state of disrepair the place was in and he was hardly going to turn away paying customers. Kinda flew in the face of running a business if you think about it. It wasn't as though the place wasn't stocked, in fairness - Kenlie and the new kid had seen to that. Which had been nice. Kenlie had done a good job taking care of the place while he'd been away.

The clientele was exactly what he was shooting for too. Too many groups, too many places in the city catered to one thing or the other. To humans or to vampires and never the twain shall meet. This made less than no sense to Ven. The way he saw it, both kinds had the potential to be paying customers and green always won out over food or kindred. As long as no violence was done on the premises (unless it was by his own hand, of course) he was pretty much okay with opening his doors to anyone and everyone. It added to the atmosphere.

Already his policy was paying off, attracting a mix of what others would term as 'undesirables' - gangsters, the occasional hunter and a handful of regular blood thieves. His bar had become a haven for the dispossessed and unwanted. A safe place where they could come and be themselves, knowing that the chance of them meeting a grisly end was, while not entirely ruled out, was considerably less likely. And if anyone did cause trouble, he had Kenlie working security for him - a job she was worryingly good at, and even more worryingly enthusiastic about. It was always the little ones.

He wasn't in Church tonight, having decided to take a booth in the far corner of the bar room. A good place to view his domain. He'd pondered getting a throne for himself, but that had been before he'd been exposed to True Blood and had decided that he wanted to be nothing like the preening Norse vampire with the highlights. Besides, blending in had its own perks. For example, he could keep an eye on the bar and the door, checking out the new people that came in and keeping an eye out for trouble. The people who needed to know who he was knew who he was and where to find him - a handful of thickly padded envelopes testified to that.

At the bar sat a new face. Ven thought he'd seen him in here once before, but could not be sure. He smelled like a vampire - the scent of blood was always a dead give away, as was the way their kind looked at humans. Whether subconscious or not, they could never quite disguise the hunger in their eyes. He waved a hand to get Kenlie's attention and nodded to the new comer, indicating that she should keep an eye on him. He was new here, might not know the rules, might try something.

He tucked the envelopes into his jacket and made his way carefully over to the jukebox, nodding his head in approval at the other vampire's choice of tune.

"Good choice," he opened, "You should know we have a three drink minimum here, though."

He smiled his toothiest smile, exposing his fangs.

"I'm Ven, by the way," he added almost as an afterthought.

[Tomi]

Tomi took a break from the shop because she had heard about a raid in the area. But having gotten there, she realized she was almost out of ammo. The retro Gucci bag she carried simply did not make that handbag with the proper amount of magazine storage. It was make up or ammo magazines. Of course she had to go with makeup. And her tight business ensemble was not one that was conducive to carrying an effective sword meant to kill things. So she found herself just outside the Handle Bar.

Yes she had been there several times, but that was before she became a respectable business woman in the city. Dare she venture in and just scope the place out? If she were lucky she might pick up a few spare wallets, that were screaming to be liberated from their inebriated owners. With an impish glint to her eyes she stepped in. It was gloomier and dirtier than she remembered. It didn’t bother her though, she prided herself on being able to adapt to almost any situation.

Having not been inside but a moment or two she spied MKVenner across the room and squealed a high pitch excited scream of excitement that caused several patrons to wince in pain. “MK!”

Tomi made a beeline to MK’s side and beamed at him completely oblivious of the fact he might be otherwise engaged. As she reached him impulsively gave him an air hug and air kiss.“I totally forgot how big you are!" Her smile is bright and excited as she spoke, then as she remembered, her eyes widened "Omg! Did you hear? I totally kicked Marva's *** a few weeks ago..."

"It was so cool and scary at the same time.. There drool and babbling..” Then switching gears in the middle of her story she looked at MK seriously, “Enough about me.. why haven't you called.. You said you would.." She noticed the Mr Clean Tv commercial type person was looking in their direction, "Oh hello... Mr.. person."

She stares at the Mr Clean person for a moment, and tilts her head to the side, asks seriously, "You look trustworthy.. if you tell a girl you will call her.. are you lying? Or are you being serious?"

[Max Kocourek (DELETED 5551)]

“Ven, you said? I’m Max,” was his reply to the introduction of Ven.

He noted the other vampires signature smile. He kept a hand rested to the face of the jukebox for a moment before scratching the back of his bald-shaven skull. He had not spoken with another like him face to face, no one outside of Charly anyway. He briefly contacted some clan through the internet by direction of Charlotte Ruse, but that was about it. He had no fearful bone in his body, but he was also not the sort to just play house and join the ranks of something thrown into his lap. Max had been living real good according to his standards for the last forty-two years. He was not about to let it break him down now.

“Sorry hearin’ ain’t what it used to be.” An index finger lined behind his left cauliflower shaped ear before bringing the arm to rest at his side. “Was that a three drink maximum?”

Max glanced towards the counter where the barman had poured a fresh glass of Rock and Rye. “Make it a double then. Mind if I run a tab?”

He was not in a hurry to leave. His shabby crack den he considered an apartment was razor thin walls and smelled like crap. That was the story he’d tell, but in truth it was wherever he stopped walking after the whiskey ran its course. For a two hundred forty pound man of muscle his stomach was strangely weak now. Which most likely lead to the reason why he let the first glass linger. He wasn’t sure if there was something in the bottle during his last visit or that restricted brand of blood pack. Charly warned him about some of this, but his memory was also not what is used to be.

Max didn’t flinch when a woman stepped in and quickly landed at the side of Ven. He was used to the atmosphere in the ring. Blondes, brunettes, thin, wide, they clung to the arms of fighters before and after the ring. They were not always a signature girl, rather like a roadie who wanted a bit of attention from the winning weight. Even for someone like him. He thought at first she was a friend, maybe a sister with her exuberant charm. He pulled a new pack of menthol's out of his pocket and gave it a few quick taps against the thick of his palm to by time. Thunderstuck had started to fade. He unwrapped the plastic from around the box, pocketing the wrapper. He tapped the box once more before opening the lid.

He looked up when she paused to notice him standing there. Max plucked a cigarette from the box, placed it between his lips, “That depends.” He answered. He quickly grabbed the cigarette to finish, “Lotta girls wanta be called, but those ain’t the ones that will stick around.”

Well, his response was not as smooth as it sounded in his head originally. He eyed Ven briefly waiting for a rude shove out the door, “I’m Max,” he grinned. “just plenty of experience with dames like that, no offense.”

“Can I smoke in here?”

[Mordechai]

It was early yet, the sun only down a few hours, as the rumble of a reworked exhaust system lent testimony that the Judge rolling down the streets was not quite stock. It was not an obnoxious sound, just a rumble that indicate there were many unused ponies still on tap, if the rider needed them. The bike was dressed all in black, with chrome highlights. It matched its rider. Black and chrome. The judge was no small scooter, but the bulk of it's massive rider made it appear much smaller than it sounded. The Judge wound its way through River Rock and on into Swansdale. It slowed as it passed the different establishments still open this late, but at each one a flick of the wrist brought another roaaar as it pulled onward towards the next.
it seemed as though neither bike nor rider knew what they desired that night, no goal was on the horizon. Just endless cruising through the dark streets of Harper Rock. The Judge actually came to a stop in front of Lancaster's. Heavily adorned and spiked New Rocks thudding in unison as they hit the macadam. The rider studied the crowd entering and exiting, then gave a slight shake of his head, as the roar cam back and the boots came up. They didn't go far, just around the block when twin thuds announced they were again in perusal mode. This time it seemed they liked what they saw. One boot swung in a scything pattern. and there was a *snick* as the well lubricated kickstand slipped into place. The other boot swung in a different path, which left the rider standing besides the Judge. Stretching out to his full size, the seven foot mountain of male vampyre cracked his neck once to the left, then once to the right. Unbuttoning the oilskin duster that shrouded his shoulders, he pulled off his leather stetson and ran long fingers through his hair. Stepping forward he settled the stetson on his head, and pushed through the doors. His eyes roved the dark interior as a deep rumble, like gravel rolling on the bottom of a stream came from his mouth. ''Open?''