Tore Up on Godsmead

April 07, 2016:

Drinking, bad behavior, and hard-R language.

A shady dockside bar, NYC

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

New York City is the city that never sleeps. That's such an inaccurate name. Or moniker, or.. oh skip it. Someone's sleeping at all times in that city. But.. not at Pete's Pub. The place is a lively hangout where music is canned, pool tables are kept in good shape, dartboards are well used, and the beer flows freely.

It's also a place where certain… under the radar sort of people know that it is safe to pass information along through intermediaries. And.. now it's a place where an Asgardian youth has found it by total accident. It's near the waterfront, and she reformed her body out of the harbor water… and then cleaned it out with sheer willpower because EW!! But Himinglaeva approaches the pub because.. people come, people go, but she will never mistake a pub for anything other than a pub.

So, in she walks in her thin white two piece dress… which for some reason always looks just damp enough to make people think another drop of water, and it would become transparent, but hey, it's magic. That won't happen. Either way, she has several skins used for carry wine, water or the like, slung over one shoulder. She -did- just come from her father's hall, where she stocked up on the godsmead served for Odin's hall when he hosts festivities (which is quite often!)…. many of the sounds of the room stop because… well use your imagination at this point. She's tall, distinctive, and all of that. "Ho merrymakers!" she calls out, "For your festivities, I bring mead!" she adds as she unslings the skins, half a dozen of them.

At the bar sits an African dressed in monochromatic attire; a black leather jacket, a light grey hoodie, blue jeans and black riding boots. It's cold outside, after all. Before him is a glass of whiskey, and next to him is a similarly dressed fellow, pale skin, wiry sort.

When the woman enters, both turn their eyes toward her. Pale hazel and vibrant silver. The hazel eyed, wiry man lifts his eyebrows, while the oddly eyed African merely stares.

"… what the actual fuck?"

Kwabena glances toward the man at his exclamation, smirking. "Twenty bucks if you get hah phone numbah."

On one wall of this particular hive of scum and villainy is a posting board. Most of it's in the kind of palaver that only folks 'in the business' understand, because otherwise it'd be a board literally full of solicitations for crime. There's a guy you can talk to about them, who'll fill you in.

Right now, Panda Delgado is staring at the postings, frowning because she's trying to remember which bits of carny lingo are which. "I think dis one is an arson," she says to herself, scrunching her round face up into a look of confusion. "I mean, arson sounds pretty easy, da fuck could go wrong wit' arson?"

That deep thought is interrupted by a Norse nymph giving out free booze. "Aw shit," Panda says, "she must be wunna dem activismy types tryin'a disrupt, like, da fuckin' capitalism of da bar!"

There is a dark corner full of shadows into which there is space for exactly one person; that corner has some guy, probably with a holdout sword, in it. He is currently asleep due to a case of extreme fatigue and/or intoxication. He had sixty bucks in his pocket, probably from someone else. Now he does not.

Someone in a costume mask is sitting at the bar, on the far end, apparently by herself, with a cigarette in her lips, an elbow on the bar, and a highball glass in front of her. (It is full of something faintly green, breaking the image slightly.)

Miss Canker is not the flashiest dresser, so she could qualify as being in 'costume.' She looks upwards when other people talk near her.

"Who the fuck are you?" she says, staring right at the towering woman in the white dress.

So, Kevin is not twenty-one, but when has /that/ ever stopped any college student from getting a drink? As as anyone who was once twenty can attest, it never really has. That being said, you spend enough time around campus, and you learn places you need to go when you do get away from dorm life. Or class. Or anything else. Any excuse to get a drink where nobody really asks for an ID.

And considering Kevin's day, that's really what he needs. While he doesn't frequent places like this, he's not about to look for a place that might give him a second look. And he's just plain enough to not really standout. Granted, he wasn't dumb enough to wear his backpack in here. Though the cane in his hand might be a little odd. Still, he's here, moving through the doorway.

He's in sour mood, hard to tell why. Probably something to do with throwing a truck at someone he didn't really like. Or punched someone else throw a wall. Who knows. There's a probably a reason, but he's not about to write an essay on it. So when he looks up, away from looking at the cruddly flip phone in his hand, there's a large woman there. Without a word, he sidesteps by, flipping it closed and walking in more directly. For the bar. Because duh.

Blue-Green eyes sliding over the room, Himinglaeva just smiled with fervent glee. She loves a good party, and these people apparently really knew how to drink! And then.. a man walks past her and her face lights up even more if possible, "It is the Son of Masters!" she exclaims, "Kevin, son of Masters, it is I, Himinglaeva Aegirdottr." she glances towards the bar, "Innkeeper. Be so kind as to provide goblets for me and my friend! And anyone else who would taste godsmead!" That said, she moves towards the bar…

Now, it should be noted, Himinglaeva doesn't so much walk as.. flow. People have been described as being fluid in their motions, but she -really- is fluid-like when she moves.

"I'm pretty sure I can see her nipples."

Kwabena elbows the man next to him, eliciting a grunt. "Mind your mannahs, Hotwire. Even in a place like dis. Say something like, 'nice tits', or, 'chest is fuckable'." He shakes his head. "Jesus Christ, you sound like a teenagah in a dirty store." Reaching for his glass, he downs the whiskey, watching casually and perhaps with a touch of suspect as the woman flows her way toward the bar.

"Da fuck is godsmead?" Panda marches over. She is definitely not old enough to drink. The fact that she's so short makes it even more glaring. "Yo! Are you some kinda fuckin' wacko like da fuckin' Joker or sumpin', fuckin' givin' us free drinks but dey actually fulla poison so when we drink 'em we all be like GAACK AAACK AACK on that shit and we die with fuckin' pointy-ass nipples like you got unna dat dress you got made outta paper towels or wuteva?!"

Panda puts her hands on her hips, and opens her jacket just a bit, to show that she's got her piece on her. "Cuz dat's wuddit fuckin' looks like ta me!"

Canker takes a drag and exhales in annoyance as Himinglaeva undulates forwards, possibly in a buxom way. Panda says what they're all thinking.

"Is that leather? Why are you storing liquor in leather," is her contribution to the discourse.

"Whiskey sour." he utters, getting to the bar, putting money down on the coutner. Hey, whatever, his money is good here. Good anywhere. The cane is unused, but kept gripped in his hand, like it's a lifeline of some kind. The drink is set infront of him, and he proceeds to drink. Yeah, he needed that. And he's probably going to need another, because Himiglaeva is talking at him.

Oh. Odin. Why. Kevin freezes, shoulders tensing slightly, when he hears his name stated in that way that he used to so freaking familiar with. The accent, the use of wording. Oh yeah, it's all come back now. Four years of hell, trained and then thrown about the Nine Realms, fighting whatever Gruenhilda pointed him at. Fantastic.

"Going to need a double." he utters, downing what was left of his liquid courage and turning about to face his fellow Asgardian. "Himinglaeva." he nods. "Surprised you remember. Surprised even more that I remember how to say your name." Great, this isn't awkward at all. "You're gonna have to make some allowances if you've come to Midgard for…no, I'm not sure I want to know why you're here. And uh…looking like this." he gestures at her.

Oh wait, there's a voice he recognizes that he hadn't heard initially. Blue eyes swing over to zero in on Panda. "/You/…" he hisses. The cane that's gripped in his hand creaks audibly. Oh yeah, that's right, she got him fired from his job. And he's looking daggers right at Panda. To the point that bits of electricity arcs away from his eyes.

Inclining her head, Himinglaeva listens to the tumultuous voices about her. But she is focused on Kevin. "I come for many things. Not to least of which is to try to prevent Ragnarok. But also.." she shakes the full mead skin. "I bring mead. One should never turn down mead." She looks about the room and at the question of the leather storing the drink, she shrugs. "It is the best way to transport mead. Worry not, I brewed this myself… well, with my sisters. It is quite safe to drink."

And then she looks back to Kevin… "Looking like what?" she asks, glancing down at herself. "This is how I look." she adds as she looks back up and begins doling out small amounts of mead in drinking glasses. "Perhaps we shall have a brawl too?" she asks Kevin. "That will be fun!"

"Yeah, well." Hotwire sniffles his nose, likely because he was off in the girls room doing blow about fifteen minutes ago. "You can see her titty-fuckable nipples, and I swear to Jesus, man, I'm hornier than a-"

"Go."

Hotwire glares at Kwabena. "The fuck you say?"

Kwabena turns around to face his friend. "I said… 'go'." A beat. "Gee, Oh. You go deaf? Put dat coke in yah ear or something?" He grabs Hotwire by the shoulders, lifting him from his barstool and shoving him toward the door. Hotwire is his asset, damnit, and Kwabena's not about to risk him getting his ass licked in whatever's brewing here.

"But I-"

"Now."

"A brawl? Now dis bitch is straight up threatenin' us!" Panda opens her jacket more fully to withdraw her piece, and then her attention is captured by Kevin.

"Oh, I geddit! You mad 'cause you was in da wrong place at da wrong time!" Panda waves the gun at Kevin, but her finger is outside the trigger guard. "Now you bringin' in your bitch here to try an' get back at me 'cuz you too crippled to do it yourself!"

Panda has both misread and escalated the situation, and people are already moving valuables out of the sight of a fight. A bartender murmurs annoyedly, "She's sure Mack's daughter, all right…"

Miss Canker pivots in her seat as the young man requests additional drinks and then gives Panda a rather lethal glare. She seems at least superficially interested in this matter, but then Himinglaeva speaks.

"You're trying to prevent Ragnarok?" she asks. (She went to college, she's heard of it.)

She also leans backwards when she sees Panda pull out her gun. She anchors herself with one shoe but is fully prepared to topple gracefully behind cover if things get more heated.

"You're a two-bit merc acting like some kinda try-hard badass." Kevin remarks, looking almost humored. "Her? I hardly know her, personally." He's unfazed by the gun. "Such a try-hard, you gotta walk into an IHOP and shake a guy down for money. Last I heard, that's what merc who aren't worth their damn salt do." For being college, Kevin has been around. Surviving in Asgard will do that.

"Now," he grins wolfishly at her. "You best get that gun and your face out of mine before something bad happens to it." A look at the cane. "Crippled?" The buttom of the cane is slammed onto the ground.

Lighting strikes, there's a flash. And cane is no longer a cane, but rather a nasty looking mace with a looped chain at the end. As for Kevin himself, he's gained about four inches in height and gained around a hundred pounds in muscle. "I'll make you famous, bitch."

Gesturing towards Kevin, Himinglaeva merely steps aside and picks up a glass of mead. "Is nobody going to drink?" she asks. "I think you will find him more than your equal." she states to the girl.

"Nobody fights his battles but him. I would -gladly- fight beside him though." And then.. Kevin does his lightning transformation and she grins.. gulping down the mead in the glass and hurling it aside absently. "So, is it us against everyone else here Son of Masters? Bearer of Thuderstrike?" she adds as she holds out her hands and grins widely. "Take care not to waste the mead if you would." she says as she just… shivers out of enjoyment and anticipation. "I knew Midgard would be fun to visit!" she adds.

Kwabena's slender eyebrows rise, his silver eyes turning to focus cleanly upon the language between Kevin and Panda. A flicker of recognition comes to him when the bartender mentions 'Mack's daughter', but that train of thought is firmly derailed when Kevin performs his transformation.

Hotwire, at the door, rubs his nose and dashes for the street.

Himinglaeva's declaration draws a roll of the eyes, which then turn to glare Panda's way. Canker is likely the smartest one of the bunch. "I'll drink," he murmurs under his breath, because Kwabena has some buddies here and he's not about to see them end up in the E.R. over the dog and ren faire show. So, he reaches for a highball of mead, and downs it in one gulp.

When Kevin turns into Thunderstrike, Panda actually drops her gun. "What da— Whut— How da— Fuckin'—"

The kid scrambles to pick the gun back up. She's quick and nimble, which maybe is expected and maybe not so much. "…c'mon, you otha fuckin' bad dudes an' shit, back me up here! Dis steroid freak thinks he's some kinda superhero who can go around threatenin' people, an' makin' his bimbo girlfriend poison 'em!"

"I ain't drinking your leather juice," Canker tells HIminglaeva. After a pause, she shrugs her shoulders.

Then she looks to Panda. "OK."

Canker looks towards Thunderstrike. "People are just trying to have a drink, you guys are fucking up the mood. Can you chill out? I mean I don't give much of a shit, maybe you want to start a fight."

"C'mon!" Kevin snarls at her. "Pick up the fucking gun! You want to do this, let's do this right now! I'm ready!" The mace crackles angrily. "You cost me my job, you insult me, and your mouth is making checks your ass can't cash!" He stands there a moment longer, shaking his head. "Whatever. You let me know when you want to do things properly. And by the way, I /got/ a girlfriend, and she ain't it." he indicates the other Asgardian. "No offense, anyways." Reaching down, he picks up the gun and sets it on the table. "You dropped that. I'm going to go drink, if you change your mind, I'll be at the bar." And with that, he takes his hulking for and goes to sit on a bar stool at the counter, putting the mace on the counter.

"So.. we are not going to brawl then?" asks Himinglaeva as if disappointed. She shakes her head and shrugs, "So be it." She moves over and picks up another of the glasses of mead. "If we are not going to fight, then you must -all- drink with me!" she calls out. Slugging another gulp back. She still has five skins of mead as it is. Plenty to go around.

The belch that rumbles from Kwabena's mouth is deep, throaty and strong enough to waken the gods. He glances down at the glass, nostrils filled with the disarmingly sweet odor of mead mixed with the stomachy whiskey churning in his belly, and he's forced to lean a hand upon the bar to steady himself.

"Holy shit," he curses, then slides his glass down the bar toward Himinglaeva. "I'll… *burp* drink."

Panda quakes with fury at Kevinstrike. She wants to pick the fight further — but occasionally, she knows when she can't win a fight. (Or when to wait until someone's drunk and then shank them with a blade soaked in piss.)

Panda watches Kwabena, and then makes an even more alarmed face at his burp. She squints, eyeing him, checking for signs of imminent death… and then she grabs one of the leather sacks of mead. "Fine! Fuckit! I'ma drink your poison-ass booze you keep in what looks like a fuckin' bison ballsac!"

So Panda does. She takes a big, long, LONG drink.

And then Panda has to grab a barstool to steady herself. "Da fuck—!"

Miss Canker leans visibly away from Kevin as he comes to sit down /unfortunately closer/ to her, her lips curling into a frown.

Despite this precarious position, being held mostly through a surprising degree of core muscle strength, Miss Canker doesn't seem strained. Her head swivels to look at Himinglaeva. "Stop telling me what to do, fuck. You sound like a school cop."

THEN she watches Panda intensely to see if she dies.

"That's not…" Kevin, still as Thunderstrike, looking at the other Asgardian. "That's going to hit humans like ground glass, you know that, right?" he states, trying to remember back when he first tried it, when he was just in his own human guise. Point of fact, he doesn't remember that night very well. "Enjoy the nine-alarm hangover." he notes, before offering his empty glass to Himinglaeva. "I haven't had that stuff in over a year. Fill'er up." Yeah, he's not going to go back to normal Kevin anytime soon. Not when he's going to be drinking this.

A skin of mead is handed happily to Panda, and Himinglaeva just grins as she takes a long drink of her own brew. Then she pours a healthy dose into Kevin's glass. She smiles brightly. It's amazing how innocently naive that smile can look. And she's pouring drinks for whomever will have it. Small doses though. Because yeah, godsmead is for the gods. But everyone has a divine spark, right?

"No," Kwabena urges the woman. "Keep pouring." He grins wickedly. "I am a mutant. Not some… normah human." He waits until the glass is quite full of mead, then downs it with a practiced gulp.

Very soon, the world is spinning for Kwabena, and his skin is transforming. Flecks of super hardened flesh grow all over what places are exposed, and when he leans a hand onto the bar again, the whole thing leans and cracks, threatening to fall over under the combined weight of himself and that of Thunderstrike. "Holy… fffuggin… shit."

That mutant's silver eyes just got all droopy.

Panda does not actually die, but she will indeed have a nine-alarm hangover. She's not a mutant, she's a normal human. She also falls against Shift, because she's using the bar to support herself when his density cracks it. She's knelt against his lap, saying, "I think I'm fuckin' seein' shit, dis homeboy just turned into a fuckin' metal gargoyle or… sumpin'…"

Panda quickly medicates by swigging more of the godsmead. "I think dis stuff is makin' my tiddies grow, feelin' heavy…"

"Yeah, you should've seen me the first time they put this stuff infront of me." Kevin notes. "I was sixteen, just got thrown into Asgard and some bagass dude in some of the bigest armor I'd seen puts a horn infront of me. I don't honestly remember what happened that night." He drink, downing the glass, appearing to of long ago gotten a taste for it.

"I'm pretty sure they were being dicks because they knew what was gong to happen. And it did. I puked sooooo goddamn much." A nod at Shift. "Yeah, grabs you by the balls, don't it." he grins, reaching over with an arm over the bar counter, and pulling the whole thing back to a more steady state, the counter groaning in the other direction. "Himmy. Good shit. Just like how I remembered."

Grinning with pride now, Himinglaeva nods. "Well, my sisters and I do good work. I can make good mead myself, but when we all work together, it's best."

She smirks and just drops the remaining skins of mead onto the bar. "Kevin, son of Masters. You will supervise the festivities. I should get to finding the Odinson." There is a pause and she adds, "You should also be informed. Something is slowly waking Jormungandr… in the sea. I have heard it." That said, she starts heading for the door. "Drink hearty!" she calls out as she flows out the door.

"… de fuck you calling homeboy?" Kwabena asks Panda, before trying to slur out a racial epithet of his own. "M… Mmmmm… mmmmaaaria?"

He manages to make it through one more glass, before he slumps into the ground like a sack of titanium. Rocky thump and all.

While everyone else seems to pass out, Kevin will keep drinking. "Aw c'mon." he notes, pouring another glass. "Ah well, more for me." And the drinking shall commence. At least on his end.

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