milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Belar got some news from the security office yesterday, and hoo nelly is he not pleased. His Mongols were told very firmly that he was going to be away for a little while, because he didn't want to cause any issues in their immediate vicinity; he's in the Bar now with his sign up.

HEAD OF SECURITY ON DUTY

HERE'S A HINT, PEOPLE:

STABBING = VIOLENCE
I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE PROVOKED

Look, no one ever said he was a subtle God, okay?

[tinytag: Charlie Monroe, Ben Grimm, Gus Dickerson, Scaramouche, Vext]

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"No, thanks," Gus says. "So much for keeping a low profile."

He realises that he didn't want to say that aloud, just now.

"Hey, if it helps at all, I don't know you from Rhodar of Drasnia," says Belar. "I mean, yeah, technically I could just pick up your name and a lot of other stuff by looking at you, but I tend to think of that kind of thing as being rude, so the whole godly semi-omniscience thing is turned off at the moment."

Well, he's definitely more polite than some of the folks he's met around here. Gus gives him that much. "Thanks," he says, mildly uncertain. "I'll... let you get back to your thing, then."

Gus very much gets the feeling that this whole thing isn't anywhere near over.

"You're welcome," says Belar. "How's the hand holding up, anyway?"

Gus squeezes his hand into a fist. "A bit stiff," he says mildly. "They said I'll probably have a scar. Well, two."

Belar nods. "Still functions, though, right?"

Gus nods. "Seems like it," he says, hopeful. "Think I'm giving up cards, though."

It won't last a month.

"Try dice next time," Belar says. "Takes a little more skill, but it's worth it."

"Oh, yeah?" he asks. Funny, dice never even crossed his mind. Possibly because it seems a bit more random. "You play, any?"

"Sure. My people invented dice, on our world," Belar says. "Also cheating at dice, which I think some of 'em consider the bigger accomplishment."

Gus is a little surprised at what he's just heard. "You're security, and you cheat at dice?" he asks. "Isn't that.... a bit hypocritical?"

Okay, he has seen worse. There was that reverend back in Oregon...

"My people cheat at dice," Belar corrects. "Like I said, I'm a god. Not a big-G God with the constant omniscience and omnipotence- that's more my dad's line- but creator of mountain ranges and guide and guardian to entire nations of people back home."

"As opposed to the two fellas who knifed you in the hand, who're basically sentient forces of destruction and total assholes."

Gus chuckles lightly. "A god, huh?" he asks. "Guess it takes all kind, right?"

He subconsciously squeezes his hand into a fist again. "They had a bloody hand with them," he remembers suddenly. "What the hell's that all about?"

"The big one eats them," says Belar. "Basically because 'ooh, look at me, aren't I creepy' gets old after a while, so he uses visual aids. And I'm serious here. Chain."

If Gus had sorcerous talent he'd feel the rush of Belar's Will being released, but he doesn't. The only thing he feels is that his clothing is suddenly a good fifty or sixty pounds heavier, because his shirt and trousers have been turned into a set of fully functional chain mail. Clinking, metallic smell, and all.

Gus stumbles backwards, crashing into a barstool. "Shit, man!" he barks, startled. "What the fuck?"

He looks around frantically, trying to find someone hiding nearby. He see no one. "Did you just do this?"

"Yup," says Belar. "An extremely minor demonstration. Let me help you up."

Gus is no longer going to be stumbling, because he's now being levitated about six inches above the ground. Still in the chain mail.

"Better?"

"Okay. Okayokayokay," he says quickly. "Point made. I get it."

He starts struggling, finding that he has absolutely no idea how to struggle properly in this situation.

"Put me down?" And then he adds desperately, "please?"

"Sure," says Belar, and lowers Gus to the ground. "And here, have your clothes back."

The chainmail's gone, and Gus's original clothes are back in place.

"They hired me to make sure there was someone on staff who could handle heavy hitters who broke the rules," he then says calmly. "People like Croup and Vandemar, the two gentlemen you managed to piss off, are in that category."

Returned to solid ground, Gus quickly checks to make sure no vital organs are missing.

"Right," Gus says slowly. "And they wouldn't have brought you on if they didn't really have a reason, would they?"

Suddenly, Gus has the feeling that he should be running somewhere. Manhattan? England? Mars?

"The specific incident that preceded my hiring involved a couple of angels and a demon getting ready to throw down," says Belar. "There was lightning."

"And you can stop lightning?" Gus asks.

And just when he thought he was starting to figure this place out.

"What are you gonna do with... those guys?"

"Stop it or create it, as necessary," says Belar. "They'll do a couple of days in the cells for punishment, but if they keep acting up like this I'm going to have to come up with something more permanent."

Gus nods thoughtfully, before looking up to meet Belar's eyes properly for the first time during this conversation. "Why do I get the feeling I ain't the only one they've stabbed?" he asks.

"Because in their own world, they're professional killers and torturers," says Belar, "and around here they tore a man's arm off at the shoulder once."

"Jesus Christ," Gus mutters, putting his hand over his mouth. Suddenly, he doesn't feel like such a bad guy at all. "Is he all right?"