by Blackwulf, Grimm and GoozX
"Greem! Good to see you again!" came the boisterous voice of Blackwulf, thundering down the bar like the rolling waves of the sea. "Come have a drink! It is on me!" the giant said in a much-lower voice.
"Wulf, you said you have a proposition for me?" Grimm said.
"In a bit! First, we have drinks, and then the women, and then around dawn we do business," Blackwulf said, and seemed to mutter something in incoherent Russian to the bartender.
"But, sir, you know we don't serve that to normal people," the pale blue bartender said with a sort of discontent in his voice. Grimm turned around. The bartender quickly added, "And would you like that in your usual decanter, Mr. Blackwulf?" Taking the order, the bartender disappeared into the back.
"Greem, you are going to love this, comrade!" Blackwulf responded.
"What did you order? Wulf, what did you order?" Grimm asked.
"New drink that I am loving very much," Blackwulf replied, grabbing a pack of Russian Black cigarettes.
"So who are your new comrades?" Blackwulf asked.
The bartender returned with two rather large flagons filled to the brim with a disgusting-looking liquid, which seemed to be eating the pewter that made up the flagons. Passing them about, he said, "You owe the bar for the last one. Now pay up in advance."
Blackwulf simply pointed at a dark black attache case, and the bartender simply shrugged.
"I am NOT drinking that shit unless you tell me what it is," Grimm said, staring at the slowly dissolving decanter.
"Is good. Is drink of my own invention. I am calling it Chernobyl Sunrise, I think," Blackwulf said, chortling, before downing his decanter in one gulp.
"I think I'll pass..." Grimm muttered. "About this business proposition," Grimm said but was stopped in mid-sentence.
"Greem, I am hearing something about a bounty on skull-faced man. You are being only skull-faced man I am knowing of. You are seeing those two men at the table on the left?"
Grimm slowly peered over at the table in question and saw two large, simian-like frat boys drinking and arguing with each other and poorly attempting to flirt with their waitress.
"Those goons? They don't look like much."
"They're not. But they are being bounty hunters the same. The Gorilla Brothers, they are calling themselves. They are just, how you say, 'tip of the iceberg' in the bounty business. But, Greem, I am having another party wanting to go into business with. Start collection agency, we are working together. We could use someone as formidable as yourself. And backing you up, we would be if there was trouble."
"Hmm. See, I'm sort of already employed by this consulting business. Those are my partners I came in with."
"No probleems, Greem, there could be time for both! Perhaps you introduce me to your friends, and we all do business together! And the WOMEN!"
"I could use some backup... I have unfinished business at home that needs tending to."
"GREAT! It's settled then. Barkeep! ANOTHER ROUND!"
Sam Dawson walked around the empty streets, the rain pounding his body. He splashed his feet, which dragged on the pavement. Sam's face shifted into that of Michelle's.
"Don't ever speak to me again."
His face shifted back to that of his own.
"I don't fucking care."
Not noticing the drop of the stepped pavement, Sam tripped and hit the ground like a ton of bricks.
"I just don't care anymore."
As he tilted his head up, a flyer met his face and stuck until he pulled it away. The running ink read, "Jake's Place: All-Meta Bar."
Moving into a sitting position, Sam shrugged his shoulders. How bad could it be?