erratic_hematic: (talk to the hand)
Spike ([personal profile] erratic_hematic) wrote in [community profile] bigapplesauce2016-03-14 08:43 pm

shoot first, ask questions later [open to multiple]

Spike needs to let off some steam. The problem is that nobody is taking him up on his instigations, and he's been drinking too slowly for it too make much of an impact. He's been bar hopping for a little while now, but by the time he swaggers into Wilmot's, he's willing to take things up a notch. He doesn't want this to devolve into a round of drunkenly worrying about Sunshine's health even more than he already is. He doesn't want to worry more. He wants action.

He orders a bottle of whisky, pours out a full glass and downs it, then looks out across at the rest of the patrons while he refills his glass. There's got to be someone here who'll fight back.

He prods the first person to walk by him in the shoulder to get their attention. "Oi, you. You've got stupid hair."

[ooc: You can either let spike instigate or assume that it's a bit later in the evening]
boneshaker: (think I'm gonna enjoy this)

[I eventually decided to go with later in the evening]

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-03-15 07:46 pm (UTC)(link)
Castor likes this guy.

He's been watching him for a while now, tall drink of water in a nice leather coat, roaming around the pub, engaging with various and sundry. Looking for a fight to pick. Castor understands the impulse all too well. When he'd learned about a pub specifically for 'rifties', it had shot right to the top of his go-to list. The sort of over-optimistic idea of meeting people and making new friends had been a short-lived one. His life has changed, possibly irrevocably, and it's still in the process of sinking in. What he really needed was to drink (which he has, heavily, using up most of the money Kirk had so kindly spotted him), and then, to find some action.

And this guy, drifting from person to person like a hungry shark, is just the kind of guy he wanted to see. He's taller than Castor but not too broad, so it might be a close-to-even scrap. And he's pissed, in both sense of the words, and he's got a real fun attitude. His entire demeanor just screams good in a fight.

Castor doesn't need much incentive. He doesn't need to wait for his turn to be approached and insulted. He finishes off his whiskey, slides up from the table, saunters over and taps the guy on the shoulder.

"Hi," he says brightly, and throws a sucker punch like nobody's business, lashing his knuckles across the guy's sharp-ass cheekbone. He practically has to launch himself to get high enough and to put full force behind it, so his entire scrawny body ends up following his fist, and he lands messily against the opposite table before turning around and grinning, ready for the return blow.
boneshaker: (you precious piece of shit)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-03-16 06:30 pm (UTC)(link)
Castor shifts his weight rapidly, hopping up and down like a little jackrabbit as he waits obligingly for his opponent to finish his drink. Amazing. This guy is great. He doesn't manage to dodge being thrown against the wall, but where would the fun be in dodging so early? Fair's fair and all. The punch stings across his jaw, wakes him the FUCK up, yes, good.

"Yeah?" He grins up at the guy. "Well, everyone loves an underdog."

He launches himself off the wall, aiming to get his arms around the guy's waist, barrel him back into the tables behind him. He keeps low, trying to use his superior height against him.
Edited 2016-03-16 18:31 (UTC)
boneshaker: (interesting)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-04-03 05:32 am (UTC)(link)
Castor was bracing himself to hit he floor on top of his opponent, and when that's not what happens, the force of his lunge hitting him full in the chest, he's too bewildered to detach before he's knocked back. He scrambles, and then there's a boot on his chest, pinning him briefly. He's startled by the guy's smirk and the ease with which he just laid him out like this; it wasn't really what he'd expected at all. It's not a bad thing. If he's being honest with himself he's pretty into it. It just leaves him stuck for a moment, squirming under his weight and the grip on his shoulders, re-assessing the situation. He's going to have to play dirty to get anywhere now.

"Ooh," is all he says, half taunting and half genuinely impressed. He rocks left but jerks right as hard as he can, wrenching his left shoulder free and elbowing the guy in the face, turning and scrabbling out from under him. Up again, he resumes hopping around. He's gotta rely on his particular strengths now. He's nimble, and he's got some tricks up his sleeve.

"Come see," he says doggedly. If he can goad him into attacking, he can evade and use the guy's strength against him. Maybe. It'll be fun to find out.
Edited 2016-04-03 05:33 (UTC)
boneshaker: (look at this terrible puppy)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-04-03 06:26 pm (UTC)(link)
Castor isn't surprised when the bartender kicks them out - if anything he's surprised it didn't happen sooner - but what really gets his attention is that first of all Spike has done this at least once before, and second of all, Spike. His name is actually Spike. This is amazing.

He smiles and about-faces when Spike nods him out. It'll be better outside. For a few reasons. It's dark and cold, which is more like home and will make him faster, and he can already feel the tingle of energy better than he could inside. New York is a fuckin neverending resource. He turns to face his opponent.

"Spike, huh?" he says, taking no pains to hide his glee. "I'm Castor." He squares off and lifts his chin. "Come get it."

No tricks yet. He wants to see how well he can dodge this guy first. No sense trotting out the only ace he has so soon.
boneshaker: (ain't scare of no things)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-04-06 07:38 am (UTC)(link)
"Oh I'm ready," says Castor, hopping up and down again as he waits for Spike to move. He evades one but takes the other, hard and dead center. He gasps sharply and staggers back, and lets out a flurry of blind punches. He takes more than he deals, losing ground with every hit. This is gonna be a serious uphill struggle. He needs to put some distance between them. He stumbles backward, hunched and bracing, his arms up to shield his face.
boneshaker: (you precious piece of shit)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-04-06 06:00 pm (UTC)(link)
He's been in plenty and come out all right, thank you, but now's not the time for verbal posturing. He turns slowly, one arm still wrapped around his aching stomach, the other extended, his hand curling slowly as he draws in the surrounding energy. He can feel it tingling, crackling at his fingertips. He grins.

He jerks his chin at Spike, giving him a dogged grin, then lurches his weight forward, throwing his hand out and up, exerting effort as he lifts and then drops. He funnels the energy forward, creating a small, localized shockwave directed toward Spike's feet, meet to throw him up and then hard to the ground. The most indirect application of his magic to be sure, but it has its uses.
boneshaker: (think I'm gonna enjoy this)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-04-08 02:42 am (UTC)(link)
Some people get pissed when he whips out the magic mid-fight, but it seems Spike is not one of those people. Castor grins at his reaction, pleased and a little bit flattered - but apart from impressing his opponent, it hasn't gained him much of an upper hand. Spike's taken it in stride, and he's no slower for it, nailing Castor too many times with a big smirk on his face.

"Wouldn't want that," he says through gritted teeth. He can't rely on the magic alone - that wouldn't be sporting or practical, but who is he to deny a request? He pulls back, draws again and shoves it forward, messier this time, directed instead toward Spike's core. It'll feel like a heavy punch, and Castor is quick to follow the motion of it, darting in and aiming a couple jabs under Spike's arm.
boneshaker: (thousand yards)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-04-09 06:40 pm (UTC)(link)
Castor half-chokes on a gasp when Spike punches him in the gut, and then suddenly he's in the air and then flat on his back. He lies there for a minute, waiting for his breathing to normalize, eyes wide and still smiling. He regards the offered hand like it's some kind of foreign object. Just give him a minute here.

"Okay. Okay." He raises his hands, acknowledging his resounding defeat. "Okay. Just. Hold up."

He chuckles weakly and swipes the back of his hand across his face. His lip's split and his nose is bloodied. He's gonna be bruised as hell tomorrow.

"Okay." He grins and takes Spike's hand, hoisting himself up with a few grunts of pain. "Drink sounds good. I'm gonna be cheap though. I don't have much." He heaves a breath and looks up at his worthy-ass adversary. "God damn, you're tough as nails. That was great."
boneshaker: (tired eyes)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-04-10 07:12 am (UTC)(link)
"Here I thought I was being fast," says Castor, looking at the rag for a moment before pressing it gingerly to his face. It stings, and he hisses softly. He pulls a few ice cubes out of his glass, wraps them up, and fixes that to his cheekbone. He's gonna have a nasty bruise tomorrow. Honestly he's looking forward to it.

"Thanks," he says warily. He had wanted to fight, and had enjoyed it, but he hadn't expected this kind of attention after the fact. Maybe a drink, not the advice. He isn't sure what to make of it.

He pours himself some gin and takes a sip, winces at the burn of it. "So, what, are you some kind of professional?" he hazards. "Didn't really expect that from a guy picking bar fights."
boneshaker: (look at this terrible puppy)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-04-11 06:03 am (UTC)(link)
Castor raises an eyebrow from behind his makeshift icepack. 'Things that want me dead' is certainly a way to put it, and all casual like that. Mostly it's the 'things' part. Castor's managed to go through life without accruing too many personal grudges or vendettas - no one actually wants him dead, but there are plenty of people who'd kill at random if he crossed the wrong path.

He isn't sure how to ask about that, and the distraction of being asked to talk about himself is enough to draw him away from it for now. He smiles sheepishly and fidgets with his glass before taking another sip.

"I'm a self-taught magic-user," he says. Spike had been more impressed than surprised by it, so he's not expecting to have to explain the whole 'magic' thing, which is nice. So far a lot of the rifties he's met have some kind of magical background, and it's the city itself that is totally devoid of it. "Where I come from it's like... anyone can do it if they apply themselves, but you sort of make your own discipline based on what's available. I kind of live on the streets, so. I used what was available." He takes another sip, smiling at Spike over the top of the glass. Sometimes he dreads telling people this part, but something tells him Spike won't be too judgmental, or at the very least he'll be fun about it.

"Garbage," he elaborates. "I draw energy from it and funnel it into a simple force spell, that's what I used on you. There's a lot of other stuff I can do but it's not so much for fighting."
boneshaker: (you precious piece of shit)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-04-13 06:23 am (UTC)(link)
Real punk. Castor sits up a little straighter, genuine delight flickering briefly across his features before he pulls himself together. This is the nicest reaction anyone has ever had, the reaction he's been waiting for all his life if he's being perfectly honest with himself. Finally. Someone understands.

He adopts a more attentive expression as Spike starts on his hypothetical before downing half a glass of pure gin. Castor blinks, startled. Did that really just happen? He didn't even flinch.

"Uh..." He shakes his head slightly, focusing on the question. It's an interesting one, though the idea of being in a world without garbage pains him. "Well, yeah. But it would take time. It's like learning a language. Everything has its own language, and some of it is harder to figure out than others. Like when I started it was just rust. Corrosion is pretty simple 'cause it's a chemical reaction, that's basic, there's rules for it. Extending it to trash was harder, 'cause then it's like... subjective. I mean what is garbage, anyway?" He leans forward. He really loves talking about this. "A lot of it has to do with how I'm interpreting something. Rust takes you to something that doesn't work anymore, something that's lost its original value. And from there you go to something that's been thrown away or rejected. That really widens the pool. But the more you have to work to convince yourself that the thing counts, the weaker it gets, the harder it is to work with."

He sips his gin again, eyeing Spike's half-emptied glass. "Is there a reason you're drinking like a monster, or are you just really hardcore?"
boneshaker: (interesting)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-04-14 07:57 pm (UTC)(link)
Castor double-takes at that, taking a harder swallow of gin than he'd intended. He coughs into his sleeve, hunching over the table, trying to process this new piece of information. 'Six million dollar man' doesn't mean anything to him, but it doesn't have to. He'd been vaguely aware that not all rifties were human, but it had seemed kind of a far-off idea, not something he'd end up scrapping with in the street.

Stronger and faster isn't bad to know. Makes him feel a little better. He did all right against an apparent superhuman - who was probably pulling all of his punches, but whatever, right?

"That's-" He shakes his head and plants his palms on the table, staring at Spike with wide, awestruck eyes. "That's cool. Sorry. Sorry, I shouldn't freak out about it. I've just never met anyone who wasn't... Well. Where I come from we just have humans. A while back there was a genetic mutation or something and some folks started growing horns, like sheep's horns. They're called minotaurs, which is a total misnomer, and they're treated like second-class citizens, but they're just, you know, uh. Different kinda humans." He trails off slowly. This feels familiar, like he's explained this recently, even though he knows he hasn't. Why would he have? No one back home needs the primer on that shit. Weird. He shakes it off.

"Sorry, I'm babbling," he says. Drunk and excitable. "So like... if you're not human anymore..." He stirs the ice in his glass slowly, giving Spike a look that is almost coy. "...What are you?"
boneshaker: (oh shi)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-04-22 02:10 am (UTC)(link)
Castor jerks back in alarm. "Son of a DICK," he yelps, just barely managing to keep his voice from rising far enough to draw a ton of attention over the noise of the bar. Spike's face returns to normal in a matter of seconds, but Castor's still sitting a little on edge. He exhales slowly, taking a wobbly sip of his drink.

Vampire. Why does that seem familiar, or... at least it doesn't surprise him as much as it seems like it should. He rolls his shoulders as if to banish the confusion, which is too much on top of everything else.

"Anymore," he echoes. "Okay. Well. That's... good?" He just fought a vampire. That's kind of badass. It's probably super badass. "Do... Are..." He's not sure what to ask here. Eventually he decides upon, "Is this something you tell a lot of rifties, or what?" Otherwise it would be a little weird that he just came out, so to speak, just like that.
boneshaker: (ain't scare of no things)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-04-24 05:35 am (UTC)(link)
He nods and leans back as well, fiddling with his glass. He has to pace himself here. "We only have vampires in stories where I'm from," he says. He takes a small, thoughtful sip. He wants to ask potentially unfriendly questions like when and why Spike stopped eating humans, but he doesn't think either of them are drunk enough for that. It's sort of weird for someone to up and admit they used to murder people, but it's not like Castor has kept much more savory company in his life.

"So, like... just how much were you holding back out there?" he asks instead, smirking a little.
boneshaker: (look at this terrible puppy)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-05-01 08:07 am (UTC)(link)
Castor perks up a little to know he did okay. Spike obviously isn't the type to bullshit something like that. He grins and takes another sip. He's starting to feel nice and warm and a little unbalanced.

"Nahhh," he says. "It's actually not that great for fighting. You can convert the energy for simple spells, but if someone had real tactical magic? Shit. You'd still be on the ground."

He knocks some more back and shakes his head vigorously. "Nah," he says again, leaning forward and adopting a serious expression. "I use it for like... anything." The serious expression is actually extremely unnecessary. He relaxes and sits back instead. "It's just like any skill, I can apply it to anything if I'm creative enough. If you know what you're doing you can convert energy from your source to do a ton of stuff. Making shit, moving shit, finding shit... this one time I had to track down some merch for this asshole I was working for, the guys who stole it off him stashed it in the sewers. I found it real fast 'cause it was the only thing down there that wasn't garbage. It was like a blank spot. There were some guys guarding it and I just walked right past them. Nobody notices garbage, you just walk past it, you don't look at it or think about it. I can give that attribute to myself for a little while, and people don't notice me. So I found it, took it, and left, in and out, they never knew I was there. Quickest job I ever did."
boneshaker: (you precious piece of shit)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-05-02 07:43 am (UTC)(link)
Castor laughs out loud at Spike's story, covering his mouth in a half-assed attempt to stifle himself. He's not sure what an 'aspic' is, but it's funny anyway, and flamethrower, and arse-end of a skunk. He's still giggling when he reaches for his drink.

"That's amazing," he says. Spike's universe sounds weird as hell, but in spite of that Spike reminds him more of home than anyone he's met so far. He seems like he'd fit in there, just attitude-wise. It's a relief to find someone like that.

"So is that like... your job?" he asks between increasingly liberal sips of gin. "I mean was. Did you hunt monsters or something?"
boneshaker: (I mean yeah)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-05-23 02:05 am (UTC)(link)
Castor squints at Spike, drunk but not too drunk to notice the overture of sadness Spike's hiding with his unconvincing self-assurance. Poor guy. Everyone here has lost so much, maybe forever. Castor's still nowhere near ready to accept that this is "forever", doesn't want to think about it, but he doesn't know how long Spike's been here.

Part of him wants to reach out and give Spike's hand a comforting pat, reassure him somehow, but there's not really anything he can say, and he doesn't think they're at that point in their friendship yet. So instead he slides back in his seat, smiling a little crooked smile, and decides to let Spike off the hook of going down that part of memory lane.

"Can I ask you somethin'," he says. "You said... as in railroad spike? What's that about?"
boneshaker: (wait....)

the temptation to make an empty comment with just this icon was REAL

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-05-23 05:00 pm (UTC)(link)
Castor stares, unabashedly, eyes wide, mouth open.

The story is one thing, Spike's adorable giggly attitude another, like he's telling a cute story of his own youthful antics. Which, Castor supposes, he is. Still, though. He's borne witness to some horrendous shit over the years, and managed to maintain a fairly clean slate through it all, working for criminals of varying pedigrees of ruthless, never going in too deep. An adjacent component, never an accessory. Hearing someone talk gleefully about violent murder is a little too familiar for a moment, makes him think he tripped into a situation very different from what he'd thought, threatens to tip him away from the comfortable complacency of making a new friend.

But he relaxes that notion. Spike isn't like anyone he's met - he's not human, has a different operating system, so to speak, and Castor is easily willing to trust him on his own promise of reformation. This guy seems more huge dork than coldblooded monster, talking about past transgressions with drunken fondness. It's weird, more than a little foreign, but who is Castor to judge?

"Wow," he blurts. "That's, um." He takes another drink to stall. He pulls wildly at the least alarming piece of the story. "Angel, huh?" Next to 'Spike', that's not very badass at all. "So what did she do to get that name? Did she have wings or something?"
boneshaker: (tired eyes)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-05-26 07:49 pm (UTC)(link)
Somewhere over the course of Spike's meandering story, Castor drops his chin into his hand, watching and listening attentively. He has no idea what reaction he's supposed to have, but that's okay. If Spike wants to talk that's fine with him.

Then it seems like the story takes a turn Spike didn't want it to take, so Castor sits back up, fiddling with his mostly-empty glass.

"That's wild," he says without an ounce of irony, and swallows the rest of his gin down. "I didn't have any friends like that. Well. I haven't had any friends for a while. Kind of an everyone-for-themself situation at home. I did know some characters, though." He wonders who's safe to talk about. Well, safe doesn't really apply here, does it? None of it'll get back to them, presumably. This displacement is still so weird.

"Just a lot of enterprising shitheads trying to take advantage of each other, mostly," he says with a shrug. "Y'know, thieves."
boneshaker: (mister cool)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-05-28 05:02 pm (UTC)(link)
"Wh-" Castor stares, agog, at the bottle. He's never heard of anything so extravagant - well, he's heard of churros, but never in vodka form. Sweets are hard to come by and can't be the priority for people like him, fancy alcohol even less so.

He gives the drink a curious sniff, delighted by the spicy-sweet aroma, and takes a drink.

It's strong, almost too sweet, but he gulps it down and looks at the glass, impressed. "Shit, man. I never had anything like this." He blinks up at Spike. Didn't he ask him something? Oh right.

"Oh I steal all kindsa stuff," he says, leaning back. "Whatever they ask me. Whatever I can get at. I freelance. Kind of on the outskirts of the black market, don't wanna get my hands too dirty but I'm good at finding shit, so. Done a lot of work for a lot of different shady folks. Sometimes it's just like... supplies, or parts for machinists. Or like magical shit. Bottled lightning bullshit they make for rich folks. Whatever I can find. Other times it's cash, stolen valuables, drug stashes... I try to spread that stuff out cause it ain't as clean and I don't want 'em thinking they can rely on me whenever. Dealers are bad news. Most of them moonlight as junkies already, you don't find what they want, or they decide they don't like you, they can get twitchy. Had a couple come for me in my time. But they ain't shit. They don't eat right, barely sleep. I can scrap better and I'm faster too."

He's babbling, which is fine. He keeps sipping warily at the vodka, like he expects the flavor to change. "You said somethin' 'bout... the future?" He tilts his head up toward Spike, curious. "You're from the past? Cause this is like the past to me. Except it's all... better. Different. I dunno."
boneshaker: (he's happy!)

[personal profile] boneshaker 2016-05-29 10:28 pm (UTC)(link)
"Oh wow," says Castor when he mentions the light bulb, for a moment thinking he's actually from that far back, but then he realizes it must be a vampire thing. "Oh man. I can't believe I forgot about my phone. This guy I met took me to the 'lectronics store." He pauses when Spike thumps the napkin against his chest, reaching up to collect it. He looks blankly at the information for a moment before smiling and tucking it carefully into his coat pocket.

Spike's gone all cuddly, which is a bit unexpected, but Castor can't say he minds. He settles into it and pulls his absurdly extravagant phone out of his other pocket.

It's miraculously undamaged from their fight - he would have felt so fucking stupid if he'd broken it already - and just as shiny and weird as when he got it. He studies it for a few moments. Still feels like way too much.

"Nobody has these where I'm from," he says. "I mean. Nobody like me. Rich people only. I guess they were everywhere, like... when my grandparents were young. I still feel like I don't really deserve it. Or someone's gonna kill me for it. That's probably what would happen if I had it at home." He snickers - like he'd ever be dumb enough to carry something like this around openly. He holds it out, trying to make sense of all the little icons. "How d'you... oh, here." This would be a lot easier if he weren't drunk. He taps the little camera icon and is startled when a high resolution image of the bar juddering around as he holds the phone unsteadily. "Whoa jeez. Okay. Uhhh." There's a bunch more icons along top of the screen, none of which he understands. After scrutinizing it for a moment he taps something that looks like another little camera symbol, and is even more startled when the image flips, revealing himself and Spike resting dozily on his shoulder.

"Holy shit," he murmurs. "That's really cool." He smiles and taps the big round button, snapping a terrible candid shot of them both.