2007-03-24: Beaten By a Politician


Lachlan_icon.gif Nathan_icon.gif

Summary: Lachlan and Nathan drown their woes in booze and brawling in the most Epic And Incredible Pathetic And Horrific Fight Ever. Spoiler: Nathan wins.

Date It Happened: March 24, 2007

Beaten By a Politician

Unnamed Dive Bar

He may be able to telepathically communicate with dogs, but Lachlan doesn't need a bloodhound to sniff out a good dive bar in which to get utterly wasted. This particular place is about as ratty as they come with a thick atmosphere of booze and sweat and low lighting to hide the blemishes of the patrons (not that the alcohol doesn't effectively do that anyway). It's not a very crowded bar tonight, allowing the Scotsman plenty of space to sit alone and mope. He's already drained his way through a few shots of scotch and is wallowing in Sad And Near-Drunk Mode. The dogs have been left at home due to their not being allowed inside — he would've gone to the Den, but the Den is where he last ran into Cass, and he doesn't particularly want to talk to anyone even remotely associated with her.

This is not a place Nathan would normally be seen at. In fact, that is the point, and he's even dressed down for the occasion, in jeans, a long-sleeved t and a… okay, well, it is a suit-jacket. Some things can't be helped. No one really looks his way as he walks into the space, heading straight for the bar and ordering a whiskey. In the dim lights, it's hard to tell, but up close it's clear that Nathan has already had a few. His voice is edged with a mild slur and his movements are slow and careful. Sliding money across to the tender, he picks up his drink and looks around for a place to sit down and do his own wallowing.

There's enough room for one and all to wallow — but with gratuitous amounts of scotch and wallowing comes the inevitable urge to return a bit of that liquid back to its natural habitat. Not long after Nathan's got his own drink, Lachlan slides from his stool to make his way for the men's room, muttering something that sounds like gratitude to the bartender. As he passes by the … /oddly/ dressed politician, the dog trainer's unsteady gait causes him to stumble on a bit of bare floor (nobody said he was a coordinated drunk). Sadly, this stumbling threatens to shove him right into Nathan.

Nathan is not oddly dressed. He is /being metro/. However, he is also not psychic, and pays no attention to Lachlan, until the man manages to knock the arm holding his whiskey. Ice skitters onto the floor, but more importantly, Nathan is now wearing his whiskey, and it's just not his night. "Christ, think you could watch where you're going?" he snaps, rounding on the— much taller man, but this little detail goes unnoticed.

Pride and scotch combine to make the power of Never Admitting I Am Wrong, and Lachlan staggers into a semi-righted position, scowling angrily at Nathan. "/Me/? Yer the bloody one tha' got in m'way!" he snarls back, raising a hand to prod Nathan in the shoulder (or somewhere in that general vicinity; his aim isn't exactly what it was a few hours ago). "Keep yer face outta m'face 'r I'll push it down yer bloody throat with m'fist." Ah, drunken threats.

Nathan looks down, blinking, at where Lachlan prodded him. Oh no he didn't. What little patience he had… no, strike that, he has absolutely no patience tonight. The voice of reason says to blow this guy off and get himself another drink, but instead, he finds himself matching the snarl with: "Hey, 'm not the one who can't walk in a straight goddamn line. Feel like shouting me another one of these?" He holds up his now emptied glass to demonstrate, before setting it back down on the bar. Wait, what? Isn't he rich? It's the principle of the thing.

Rich or not, Lachlan is /not/ going to buy Nathan another drink. After all, he isn't the one who's wrong here; the /other/ guy is. The Scotsman grimaces in a mixture of disgust and menace, waving a hand in a dismissive fashion. "Buy yer own Goddamn booze," he growls. "'M no' buyin' ye a round b'cause yer the one's runnin' inta people. Ye spilled yer own bloody drink an' ye can suck it outta yer shirt fer all I care." And with that, he turns as though about to set off for his original destination: the men's room.

Nathan blinks at Lachlan's back, swaying a little unsteadily on the spot. That was entirely not how it was meant to go. He is intimidating, commands respect, people do what he tells them to do, and all that. Even when drunk and a new whiskey stain on his jacket and shirt. Yes, even then. "Useless drunk," he mutters, though audibly. Pot, meet kettle.

Somewhere, there is the sound of screeching tires as Lachlan comes to an abrupt halt. A beat, and then he's spinning (wobbling) around to face Nathan again. This time, he really really does not look happy. He clears the distance between himself and the whiskey-stained man in two (three, four) steps and reaches out to grasp him by the wet shirtfront. "Wha' the /bloody fuck/ di'ye call me?!" he demands in a near-bellow.

If they hadn't drawn any attention to themselves before now, they have at least earned a small audience, although no one is even close to breaking the two up. Hell, it's moderately entertaining. Nathan's hand flies to grip Lachlan's wrist. "Let go, right now," he growls. "And you heard me. Useless. Drunk." Hey look, someone else has problems, and Nathan isn't obligated to care! This is shaping up to be a good night.

GAME: Lachlan has rolled DEXTERITY and got a result of POOR.
GAME: Lachlan has rolled BRAWL and got a result of MEDIOCRE.

Lachlan does not let go. Lachlan, in fact, tightens his grip on Nathan's shirt and cocks back a fist to deliver a punch to his gut. Granted, it's not a very /competent/ attempt at violence, considering the Scot is already a bit unsteady on his feet, but it's enough to get his point across: he doesn't like being called a useless drunk.

GAME: Nathan has rolled DEXTERITY and got a result of GOOD.
GAME: Nathan has rolled BRAWL and got a result of MEDIOCRE.

The tightened grip on his shirt is indication enough, and Nathan twists out of the way. Fabric tears, but at least he didn't get punched. Still, his shirt receives a look, Lachlan receives a look, and Nathan does something he hasn't done in a reasonably long time: he throws a punch, aiming for the other man's jaw. It's unsteady, however, as he partially slips on spilled whiskey.

GAME: Lachlan has rolled DEXTERITY and got a result of HORRIBLE.
GAME: Lachlan has rolled STAMINA+TOUGH COOKIE and got a result of SUPERB.

WHUFK! Lachlan isn't nearly as agile or perceptive as Nathan when it comes to drunken brawling, and so the punch connects square with his jaw. It's enough to knock his face to the side and send him back a step, but Nathan's weak arm and the scotch already pumping through the dog trainer's veins make the pain a less than staggering. He's soon righted his face again — and now he's /pissed/. Gritting his teeth and emitting a heathen's bellow, he uses both hands to grab the politician's torn shirt and attempts to yank him around away from the bar for a shove-toss.

GAME: Lachlan has rolled BRAWL+STRENGTH and got a result of MEDIOCRE.
GAME: Nathan has rolled BRAWL+DEXTERITY and got a result of POOR.
GAME: Nathan has rolled BRAWL+STRENGTH and got a result of MEDIOCRE.

Blame a lack of coordination. Or a lack of know-how in drunken brawling. Nathan finds himself stumbling across the floor when he's grabbed and shoved, knocking into a table, hip connecting painfully with the edge. He lets out a 'nng' and pushes himself away from it. Stumble. Now where did Lachlan go. He's not done. Nathan moves to shove and knock him off balance.

GAME: Lachlan has rolled BRAWL+DEXTERITY and got a result of HORRIBLE.
GAME: Lachlan has rolled BRAWL+STRENGTH and got a result of AVERAGE.

If it's a bit of off-balance that Nathan was seeking, he finds it /really easily/. Lachlan is sent flailing backwards and winds up slamming his back into the bar. He slumps there but manages to prop himself up with his elbows, so he doesn't /completely/ fall to the floor. It still takes him a few moments to recover, however. Wh— ? After some comical scrambling, the Scotsman achieves his feet. With a second roar, he charges at Nathan and aims to tackle him. Rugby, don't fail him now!

WHUMP. Nathan down. There was really no avoiding that. With a grunt as he's taken down, he's determined to at least make it hurt for the other guy, also. So his elbow comes into it, hopefully in relation to Lachlan's face, twisting around so he can attempt to slam it back into the man's jaw.

GAME: Nathan has rolled BRAWL and got a result of MEDIOCRE.
GAME: Lachlan has rolled DEXTERITY and got a result of POOR.
GAME: Lachlan has rolled STAMINA+TOUGH COOKIE and got a result of GREAT.

CRUNCH. Being in such a position, Lachlan's not going to be able to get away from that elbow, so he takes it squarely on the face, adding a second bruise and a cut inner cheek to the growing list of his facial injuries. It causes him to waver, tilt to one side, but four legs (or, well, two arms and two knees) are better than two. He's able to stay upright, and then he proceeds to throw a punch towards Nathan's own face.

GAME: Lachlan has rolled BRAWL and got a result of AVERAGE.
GAME: Nathan has rolled DEXTERITY and got a result of GOOD.
GAME: Lachlan has rolled STAMINA and got a result of GREAT.

If there is one thing Nathan is good at, it's getting the heck out of dodge. The build up to the punch is slow going, and he quickly rolls out of the way before the fist can connect. It's not graceful, more like a desperate scramble, but it does the job. Not the face! Nathan gets to his feet, staggery, and glares at Lachlan. "That all you got?" he asks. That's what they say in the movies, right?

The only thing louder than the THUD of Lachlan's fist hitting the floor is his shouted curse of pain. He remains doubled up on the floor a moment, clutching his abused knuckles in his uninjured left hand (fortunately, it was a righty he was throwing). It's possible he'd stay there the rest of the night nursing his hand, but no. Nathan had to go and /taunt/. With a low growl, the Scotsman props himself up on two hands and one knee. The other leg snaps out to offer a hard kick toward the politician's shins.

GAME: Lachlan has rolled STRENGTH+BRAWL and got a result of GOOD.
GAME: Nathan has rolled DEXTERITY and got a result of AVERAGE.
GAME: Nathan has rolled STAMINA and got a result of GOOD.

Nathan lands hard on his knees, then hip, whatever other painful angle there is to land on when is legs are kicked out from under him. "God /damn/ it," he growls, because that hurt, but not nearly enough that the former whiskey intake couldn't dull the edges of it. He tries to get to his feet, but changes his mind, sort of… pouncing in the general direction of Lachlan with the intent to throw a punch should it work out.

GAME: Nathan has rolled BRAWL+DEXTERITY and got a result of GOOD.
GAME: Lachlan has rolled DEXTERITY and got a result of POOR.
GAME: Lachlan has rolled STAMINA and got a result of MEDIOCRE.

All the activity, the two good cracks to his face, the fact that he's on hands-and-knees — these things are starting to wear down the Scotsman's inherent stamina. Add to that the fact that Nathan's next punch hits /hard/ and /square/ in Lachlan's side quite near his kidney. It's painful enough to knock the breath out of him a bit and he falls onto his side with a wheeze. There's no attempt at retaliation for the moment as he simply wraps his arms around himself and curls up.

Pushing himself up to stand, Nathan looks down at Lachlan, panting. Did he. Just beat a guy up? He just beat a guy up. Mostly. Kind of. A few stupid things try to get said all at once, resulting in: "Are you— did I— should—" before he gives up and says, "Well that's what you get." Rubbing the back of his neck, Nathan goes to step around the fallen man to get himself another drink, limping just a little.

It takes Lachlan some time to recover his breath, and by the time he's ready to pull himself onto his feet and get back into the match, someone has decided to intervene. When the Scot is upright and starts weaving his way toward Nathan with malicious intent, he's grabbed by a couple of guys who were originally playing pool but decided that a barfight was a little more interesting. "Hey, buddy," one of them intones, "I think you've had enough. Why doncha go home and sleep it off? I'll call ya a cab." Lachlan's too disoriented and worn out to really argue. He's pulled on toward the door and ushered outside. Next time, Gadget!

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