Simon Kemble | Crossroads Demon OC | bartenderdogeat_underdogMay 31 2012, 04:17:44 UTC
[Crossroads are few and far between in one-horse towns, but there are still deals to be made. So Simon's set himself up in a fairly nice saloon that serves decent booze and has clean rooms on the second floor. And if some of the clientele is a little... creepier than average, well. He's a demon. It comes with the territory.]
[It's a big, wild, largely dangerous territory out here. People get hurt in the damnedest ways, come down with all manner of afflictions.
The local doctor? He just puts up with it, patient and longsuffering, always with a comforting word. Except for the barkeep, that is. For the barkeep, he's got a remarkable and seemingly never-ending supply of sarcasm and not-quite-hostility. Almost like those two have some kinda history, the locals say. But whatever it is, Doc Azarias isn't talking.]
[And neither is Simon. He will give as good as he gets, sort of, because the Doc can get cranky and smite-y if he's sassed too much, and Simon ain't forgot how low in the ranks he is compared to a blasted archangel. What said archangel is doing out here in the ass-end of nowhere is a question for the ages, but Daddy works in mysterious ways, he supposes, and Raph-- excuse him, Azarias ain't explaining. He just gives Simon one of those enigmatic Looks of his and orders another round that doesn't affect him.
And the doc does come in handy when there's a shootout in the saloon. Like the one happening right now.]
[Damn it all, anyway, this is what an angel gets for trying to have a quiet drink. Hard to say what the quarrel even is -- it's always something ultimately foolish, a matter of a few dollars or a horse or a cow, something not worth killing for.
There's those who say the Doc is bulletproof. He earned that reputation by doing just what he's doing now -- coming out from cover and striding towards one of the two initial combatants like an angry father about to deliver a sound thrashing and a talking-to.]
Simon rolls his eyes and puts his (unfired) shotgun back under the bar. Not that he needs Raph-- Azarias to break up the fights that occasionally crop up, but it's always nice having backup, even if they are on opposite sides in most things.
Hamilton Crane, the other party, starts to bring his gun around to cover the Doc, and Simon pulls the shotgun back out and sets it on the mahogany bartop.] Ham. Don't. This ain't the time nor the place.
Bailey, you'll put that gun up this instant if you know what's good for you. Now I don't care who started this foolishness, I'm putting an end to it, and you can talk it out like civilized men, do you hear me?
[The Doc's never raised a hand to a man in his whole life, at least not that anyone can recall, but damned if he doesn't talk like he'll take that pistol out of Bailey's hand and whack him one with it if Bailey doesn't do as he says.]
That's the third chandelier this week. Pay for it, or I'm taking it out of your hide, Ham. [Simon doesn't take his hand off the stock of the shotgun.] There's only so much breakage I can afford as a cost of doing business.
[Doc Azarias doesn't even look away from Bailey, who still has his gun -- shakily -- in hand.] Perhaps you ought to reconsider the wisdom of continuing to install low-hanging glassware in this particular bar, Kemble.
[Ben Lockwood, local gambler, shoves his hat back on his head with the head of his wolf's-head cane and props his bad leg up on an empty chair.] Maybe if the place didn't attract the sort of clientele it does, you wouldn't have to keep replacing the lights. [He eyes a demon who's passing for human at the end of the bar. It bares a tooth back at him and turns sullenly back to its drink.] All manner of unpleasantness could be avoided if you had a better atmosphere in here.
When the man's right, the man's right, Kemble. [The Doc gets close enough to take the gun out of the wavering hand of Jonathan Bailey, and he does so, breaking the thing open and turning it over so the ammunition scatters onto the floor. He closes up the gun and hands it back with a Look.]
[And Janni Miller, local ranch owner, smacks her whiskey glass down on the bartop and fixes Hamilton with a Look.] Can't a lady have a quiet drink in what passes for a semblance of peace after a hard day of branding? I ask you. [And Hamilton quails under her gaze, holsters his gun with a sheepish expression, and gives Simon a few greenbacks for his busted chandelier.
She huffs and goes back to her drink.] Finally. You know, if you boys need to blow off steam, I got plenty of work on my ranch needs doin'. I'll wear you out right quick.
[Bailey ducks his head and mumbles something sheepish, and the Doc makes a shooin-away motion.] You get on home, Bailey, there's enough liquor in you for one day.
[Simon puts the shotgun back under the bar and pours a freebie for the Doc and another for Miss Miller, seein' as how they defused a volatile situation for him. He shoots a glare around at the rest of the people.] That's enough excitement for one night. You all got me?
[Ben gives him a cheeky grin and starts dealing out another hand of poker. "I'd sure as hell rather play cards than watch some guy get shot."]
No kiddin'. [The piano player re-emerges from behind his upright, retrieves his bowler hat, and dusts it off on his sleeve before sitting back down. Not that he's any less bulletproof than the Doc, but these are details.]
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The local doctor? He just puts up with it, patient and longsuffering, always with a comforting word. Except for the barkeep, that is. For the barkeep, he's got a remarkable and seemingly never-ending supply of sarcasm and not-quite-hostility. Almost like those two have some kinda history, the locals say. But whatever it is, Doc Azarias isn't talking.]
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And the doc does come in handy when there's a shootout in the saloon. Like the one happening right now.]
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There's those who say the Doc is bulletproof. He earned that reputation by doing just what he's doing now -- coming out from cover and striding towards one of the two initial combatants like an angry father about to deliver a sound thrashing and a talking-to.]
Jonathan Bailey, what the hell?
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Simon rolls his eyes and puts his (unfired) shotgun back under the bar. Not that he needs Raph-- Azarias to break up the fights that occasionally crop up, but it's always nice having backup, even if they are on opposite sides in most things.
Hamilton Crane, the other party, starts to bring his gun around to cover the Doc, and Simon pulls the shotgun back out and sets it on the mahogany bartop.] Ham. Don't. This ain't the time nor the place.
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[The Doc's never raised a hand to a man in his whole life, at least not that anyone can recall, but damned if he doesn't talk like he'll take that pistol out of Bailey's hand and whack him one with it if Bailey doesn't do as he says.]
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Now that's enough of that nonsense.
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She huffs and goes back to her drink.] Finally. You know, if you boys need to blow off steam, I got plenty of work on my ranch needs doin'. I'll wear you out right quick.
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[Ben gives him a cheeky grin and starts dealing out another hand of poker. "I'd sure as hell rather play cards than watch some guy get shot."]
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The Doc, meanwhile, raises his free drink in a grudging gesture of thanks to the bartender.]
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