[OPEN] HERE IS SOMETHING YOU CAN'T UNDERSTAND:

[crystalmethod]

[open to all]

They call them pubs here. Trevor dislikes this. He refuses to use their slang, and he has already gotten into a verbal fight with someone over language. Of course, this was all incited by Trevor himself after some hapless bar patron decided to insinuate that "English" was better than "American." Or maybe he wasn't insinuating anything; Trevor just assumed he was. Or maybe the man just politely told Trevor to calm down. Trevor can't remember the reasoning anymore because it was a blur of rage.

He now can be found in the middle of a rant - one in a series of many - shouting out into the dingy pub and attempting to cause another scene, which for some reason hasn't gotten him kicked out yet.

"Lager is a fucking scourge. It's goat piss. It doesn't get the distinction of being bull piss, because that shit is strong. Which one of you pip-pip jerkoffs tried to buy the whole bar pints of lager? Is that how you show your affection, you sadist? I know you're still here! I'm gonna find your presumptuous hide and carve it right off!"



[closed to clara]

There is one ray of light in this shithole. An older woman who seems content to just watch him do his thing. He's caught her looking at him and, fearless, steps right on over and takes a seat right next to her. Leaning on the table, he turns on his "charm", which just consists of him lowering his voice and staring at her with an intensity that'd make most people uncomfortable.

"Now this is a fucking crime. Beautiful girl like yourself all alone, having to buy your own drinks. Here, lemme handle that." He takes out his wallet, picks through it and procures a-- £50 note. God dammit he hates pounds. Forgot he had some of his money converted the other day.

Comments

[crystalmethod]

Trevor just blinks at this acrobatic feat. Okay, well, that plan of his also failed. Then someone's coming over to try to ruin their fun yet again.

"Fuck your system!" And Trevor proceeds to scrabble to his feet and football-tackle the hulk of a man, throwing all caution to the wind. The idea this might be another werewolf is somewhere in the back of his head, but he'd feel much worse about bowing out and following the rules than getting his throat ripped out, to be totally honest.

[detectiveofthewest]

What. Why. The security guard fell backwards and threw out an arm towards to the bar to try and steady himself. He knocked over an abandoned drink, sending the contents spilling out across the counter. And across the end of a cigarette some slob had left unstubbed.

The surface of the bar burst into flames. Now the bar patrons, who before had simply contented themselves with mildly horrified drunken rubbernecking, were beginning to panic. Hopefully the bar owner hadn't been too cheap to make sure his sprinklers were working properly, because that wallpaper looked pretty flammable...