Chains of Retribution The Rusty Nail

Tiko

Tiko

Draconic Administrator/Mentor
Mentor
Administrator
The Rusty Nail is a grimy but cheap bar on the outskirts of Lupaix. It tends to attract those too destitute to go elsewhere and the shady sort that are quick to prey upon the former. The exterior of the building is largely unremarkable, and the interior is worse than unremarkable.

The smell of spilled beer, cigarette smoke, and piss greets people as they enter. The furniture is sticky and unwashed, and the occasional roach can be spotted scurrying across the floor. Dim lighting makes it all the more appealing to the less savory sort.

It is early enough in the evening that only a few patrons are seated. A lone man slumps at the far end of the bar, nursing a drink and staring vacantly into space, while a couple of weathered men sit in a booth by the window, talking quietly and casting occasional glances outside.

The owner of the establishment, Marcellus Renaud, is behind the bar, going over inventory until things start to pick up for the evening. Marc, as he’s known, is a burly man in his fifties with weary eyes and an indifference of a man who has given up on anything more than moving through life one day at a time.

Outside it was beginning to rain.
 
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The weather outside definitely fit Aimée's mood. Her lithe frame was covered in a form-fitting black jacket, hood covering her head as she exited the yellow cab. She trudged through the rain toward the unknown establishment, wishing she had an umbrella. At least the hood was keeping her dark locks dry. That was a plus, eh? Having been bar hopping the last three days, she hoped that this one was far enough that no one from the pack would spot her there. Truthfully, Aimée was ashamed that she had fallen off the beaten path after having done so well. Well, for a week at least and the last thing she wanted was to see the disappointed looks of her pack. Thrusting those negative thoughts out of her head, she stepped through the doors. Out of the rain and into...

"Oh, what the fuck...?" She couldn't keep the disbelief out of her eyes at the state of the bar. This was a far cry from the Den. Man, how she missed that place. Missed her father. Aimée still couldn't figure out why he betrayed the pack... their family. Especially after he ran her through the wringer about how her actions might've gotten her kicked out. Yet, he was betraying them all. Why did he turn on them and to Rowan of all people?! The longer she had to think about her father and her deceased mother, the more Aimée turned to booze to fill in the holes. Huffing in her thoughts, the dark-haired female surged toward the bar counter, attempting to ignore the stench that fought to infiltrate her senses. Hopefully, the prices were cheap. She needed to keep a low profile after all.

"What a shithole. Can I get some whiskey?" Aimée glanced at the man standing behind the bar, not sure if she cared if he heard her insult. Her filter was broken it seemed and if he did serve her, it would probably get worse.
 
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The name of the bar already didn't give any high hopes that it would be even close to classy. But this?... Grisham wrinkled his nose as he came in. He cursed, once again, his enhanced sense of smell. It just meant he could never escape how disgusting people were. Anywhere was better than the rain tonight, though. So here he was.

He had just arrived to Lutetia, and he had spent a couple of hours driving around in his van until he found the cheapest camping to stay in for the next few weeks. It was in the outskirts of Lupaix, and close enough to a neighboring forest that he wouldn't need to buy a lot of food. He left his van secured, because this neighborhood looked like he'd need the safety locks. And the double locks. And the extra, just in case.

Fuck it, he was a paranoid old man. He had accepted it. At least now the outside looked the part. Since his attitude hadn't changed all that much. It was also too dark for him to wear the tinted sunglasses he used to hide his eyes sometimes. They were yellow, and glaringly wolf-like. But... Whatever, he guessed. He wanted a drink, and this place was empty as Hell on a good day. Even then, after a quick look, he chose to sit closer to the one woman in there than any other gross guy. Call it a lingering survival instinct, from the old days. Not close enough to creep her out, mind you. But close...er, at the bar.

He was wearing a slightly oversized trench coat with patches and a couple of colourful pins. Then cargo pants, a black sweater and military boots. That and his tired expression surely made for the most charming of looks while he looked at the bottles on the wall behind the bar. What was he going to over indulge in tonight?...
 
Why the fuck did she have such good senses? It was fantastic when trailing someone, but in cases like this, absolute torture. Flipping back the hood, she shook herself just a little to get the water droplets off the jacket before settling back down again. Briefly, she thought about sitting where she could watch the door, but there were too many nasty losers where she would've sat. So, Aimée remained on one of the stools and leaned against the bar. Her black hair covered half of her face deliberately and once she was served her whiskey, tried to relax. Sighing, the Bloodstone sipped on it and fought to relax. Her tongue flicked against her teeth as movement was sensed off to the side of her. Shifting her head to look at the male, she studied him while finishing her whiskey and motioning for another.

"You don't stink like piss and body odor. What brings someone like you to a shithole like this?" Aimée was quite aware that she also could be asked the same thing, but oh well.

While he didn't smell of piss or body odor, she did pick up on the meaty scent lying below the other scents in the bar. It was coming from him and for a brief moment, Aimée wondered if he was a remnant of the Scions. If he was... he would be quickly dispatched of in hopefully a very violent manner. For now, she was going to play nice and pretend to be a normal human female. Drinking down another four glasses of whiskey, she looked over at him again.
 
He didn't notice her particular smell over the local stench. Jesus, this place could really use a deep cleanup. He also wasn't expecting the woman, or girl, to talk to him first. But oh well... She was relatively nice about it at least. She was drinking whiskey, so maybe that was good. He ordered something with whiskey, but sweet, and shrugged.

"Just wanted a cheap place to drink at, and I don't stink because I shower, I guess." He answered, leaning on the bar. Resting his face on his hand.

"I'm Grisham, new in town and all that. What about you? What are you doing here?" He said to her, surprised at just how fast she was downing her drinks.
 
If there was one thing Aimée was good at, it was drinking a lot in a short period. Sweeping her black locks over her shoulders, the Bloodstone looked at the bartender briefly. Just how was he standing there with this stench permeating the air? It baffled her and she wondered if perhaps his sense of smell was busted. Surely that was it, right? No one would willingly allow their business to become a disgusting pisshole, right? Her fingers rubbed against the bridge of her nose and she sighed softly. Even with the cheap booze, Aimée wasn't sure how much longer she could stay here. Tossing down the fourth glass of whiskey, she ordered another before finally returning her attention to the male as he explained his reasonings. Hah, it was the same reason she was in the bar.

"I'm here for the same reason, honestly. Needed a cheap place that was off the beaten path." Almost saying more, she opted to keep that to herself and twirled her fingers in her hair, peeping at him with one of her blue eyes, the other still covered with her long bangs.

"I'm Aimée and as you can see, I do love me some booze. What brings you to town?" Well, at least he wasn't a Scion. That much was a plus and meant she wouldn't have to kill him.
 
What did, indeed, bring him into town? And what did he want to tell to the first person he had a proper chat with?.

"I think I just want to... Settle? In a way. Stay someplace for more than a few months, or a couple of years. Lutetia seemed as good a place as any. With a good amount of wolves to make it better." He said, twisting his drink around before he finished it and got another one. He had a defeated expression on his face, sadness in his eyes and resignation in his tone.

"I'm old, is what you're hearing, most likely." He joked with a sad bout of laughter. Aimee reminded him a bit of himself when he was her age. And as shit as it had gone for him to drink that much, he wasn't his dad. He wasn't... Well, he wasn't anyone to tell her what to do. So he didn't. She may not even remember him come morning anyway.

"Are you from here? And... Since this place looks like it needs it. Oi! Sir, are you hiring??" He asked the bartender, waving him over. He didn't have any other people around. So Grisham just... Assumed that he owned the place, or would know who he needed to talk to about maybe also getting hired.
 
For the most part, Aimée was able to keep certain emotions from being read on her face, but when Grisham mentioned that wolves made Lutetia a better place to live as opposed to other places, surprise momentarily flashed across her face before she managed to shove it away. Blame the alcohol and stress over the last few weeks.... months, however long it had been. But, if he was mentioning wolves, she was pretty certain that he was a werewolf. That explained the meaty scent she had picked up on. Musing on just how much she should spill, Aimée scrunched up her nose and shrugged when he said he was old.

"Age is only a number, yenno. Somedays I feel older than I am and other days, I feel pretty young." Tossing back what was left in her glass, she felt her body humming. Ah, that was more like it. She debated on whether or not she wanted to order another drink and opted to wait just a moment.

"I'm from near here, yeah. Had to go way out of the way to find a place to get drunk. My normal stomping grounds were burned to the ground by some Scion fucks. I liked the name of this joint and didn't realize it was such a shithole." Letting Grisham offer his services to the barman, Aimée briefly wondered what kind of place this would be if it was clean. Definitely wouldn't be as good as the Den though.
 
Marcellus stared at Grisham with an utterly deadpan stare.

"Are you fucking with me?" he asked bluntly.

He didn't seem upset at the question, but neither did he seem to take it seriously.
 
Age is only a number was enough of a good joke to Grisham that he smiled into his glass. Aimee's response wasn't a surprise, nor was it her expression when he mentioned he actively wanted to live someplace with wolves. But eh, his eyes would be a dead giveaway soon if they weren't already. For her and for the bartender he was trying to get hired by.

His expression twisted to one of confusion and concern as Aimee kept talking. Because he didn't know if someone's stomping grounds getting burned to the ground by some so called scion fucks was a hell of a modern expression or... if it was literal. In which case, what the fuck?.

"I like the name of it too... which is why I want to work here. No, I'm not fucking with you. I just think this place could use a guy who can clean and keep people from pissing around while you tend the bar. And do that as well from time to time, so?. Are you hiring??" He insisted, looking at the bartender before he asked Aimee any questions on what the fuck she had been talking about before.
 
Marcellus just stared at Grisham for a few long silent moments as if trying to figure out what his angle was. Finally he answered.

"Get the toilets operational by opening tomorrow and you can have a job. We open at 4:00."
 
Grisham did his best not to cringe. He... Was definitely terrified of whatever was in those toilets if people would rather piss out here often enough for it to stink. But he's given it a good honest try.

"Want to tell me about that... Story you mentioned, someplace that burned down?" He told the girl. Aimee. "As in, want to tell me about it while I try to get the bathrooms operational, from a safe distance." To not die from the smell or something. There weren't enough people in the bar. And it definitely sounded like a good story. He downed his drink and got up to go examine his surely herculean task . As it couldn't be any other way.

Aimee could tell him the story, maybe sitting closer than she was already. Or she could not.
 
"Better you than me..." Aimée muttered when the barman told the other male to clean the toilets and have them operational by the time they opened again. Guess if he was really serious about wanting a job, he would do it. She on the other hand wasn't about to get dirty or get the stench even more over her clothing. At least the stool seemed to be mostly clean and not pissy.

"Hm?" Blinking back to Grisham, Aimée tried to remember what they had been talking about. Booze tended to do that to her brain sometimes.

"Oh, right. The Den." That was a sad memory though and very irritating, but she did bring it up. Snagging a bottle of whiskey, she followed behind him, drinking on it as she stayed away from the bathroom.

"The Den was where the Bloodstone Pack hung out. It was burned down by our arch rivals, The Scions. It uhh... it happened during a series of attacks..." Fucking Scion scum.
 
It didn't take long to determine where the smell of piss was coming from as Grisham reached the bathrooms. An 'OUT OF ORDER' sign had been taped to the doors, but patrons had chosen to ignore it. That is until the state of the bathrooms had become such that people took to pissing in the alley out back instead. Though at least one drunkard had pissed behind the broken down jukebox.

That all of the toilets where backed up suggested vandalism, but the problem had been ignored for weeks from the look of things.

---​

The weariness that hung over Marcellus was only the surface of a drowning man. The place was in its final days, and he knew it. He knew what a shithole it had become, and when the toilets had been vandalized, he realized he simply didn't have any fight left in him. The city would take The Rusty Nail, and him with it. Just as it had taken so many others.

He glanced to the wall behind the bar where there was a black and white framed photo of a man standing with one foot rested atop a pile of burnt rubble, holding up a rusty nail for all to see.

He had just been a child when the fire had burned through the district. Just a child when his father had proven that nothing was so far gone that it couldn't be saved. That was a long time ago though. A time that no one even remembered now. No one but him anyways.

He sighed and went back to his work, already putting Grisham from his mind. No doubt the man would take one look at the restrooms and fuck off from his life.
 
He almost DID fuck off. But he did an old man thing and pulled a small facemask from a pocket in his jacket. The smell was... Slightly more bearable then. He got to work, found the cleaning supplies and something that should work to unclog whatever had died in them. Ugh ... He was glad he had had basically nothing for dinner. It would've come back up by now.

"Sorry to hear about the conflict, and the fire. Are the attacks still going?" He asked, it would be nice to listen to someone while he worked. Even if he wouldn't blame her If she outright left.

The Bloodstone pack, so... Aimee was a member then? The mention of that particular group stirred something in him. But it had been so long, and it wasn't like this girl would have been alive back then. She looked awfully young.
 
"That's fucking disgusting. I think it smells worse in this area than where we were sitting. I'm not even stepping foot any closer, so you're on your own, Grisham." Making a face, Aimée guzzled more on the whiskey, stepping back a little. Looking down at the floor, she couldn't help but wish she had been able to stop the Scions before they managed to burn down the joint. Just shrugging at him, she could feel her body thrumming thanks to the booze.

"No, the attacks stopped. I mean as far as I know, the threat is still out there, but after the massive attacks, nothing has happened." Drinking even more, she swayed back and forth. Oop, too much whiskey.

"Lots of good people died... thanks to my fucking father." Clenching the bottle, Aimée threw the bottle hard against the bathroom wall.
 
Okay, he wasn't expecting that. He was, not, expecting a glass bottle to fucking EXPLODE against the wall. He jumped back and turned around to snarl at Aimee.

"What the FUCK kid?. Grab a stool and sit your ass down while you tell the story. I'm listening, I promise, but don't make my job here harder! It's dirty enough already!" He pretty much barked at her from behind the facemask. He wasn't trying to get thrown out or something like that before he even got hired, either. Regardless of what this girl's dad had done, this bathroom and this bar, weren't going to pay for it!. Not when he was ... Halfway to working there!.
 
Fuck it! Fucking hell! Was that tears streaming down her cheeks? Stubbornly wiping them away even as Grisham shouted at her, the dark-haired female clenched her fist against her side. While she felt bad for making a shitty situation worse, she was still working on her temper. Reaching out to snag a stool while biting back a snarky reply that he wasn't her father, Aimée flopped down.

"Sorry, but it's your fault for probing." Pinching the bridge of her nose, she crossed one long leg over the other.

"It doesn't matter anyways, it's not like I can change things. Not like I'm good enough to do any good."
 
"No it isn't! If you're going to throw shit around, at least own up to it. Tsk... Are you hangry or something? Did you have anything to eat before you inhaled that bottle??" He asked, coming out of the bathroom and pulling out his phone. He opened one of those apps to order food online.

For now, he ignored the bit about her being good enough, or not good enough. He didn't know if this bar had a kitchen, but he also didn't want to even consider eating anything that had come from it, if it even existed. He'd rather clean it himself first.
 
"Oh get fucked. How is it that anytime a female is upset, men always assume they're hungry?!" Aimée snapped, crossing her arms against her chest. Though, his question did make her stop and think. Just when did she eat last? All of her money first went to Ragenard and then what she got after... after going back to stripping went to alcohol.

"I ate a small steak a day ago... I'm not hungry, in upset about the memories." Her eyes narrowed just a little and she looked at him on his phone.

"You just happened to show up after all of the attacks, mmm? Just randomly picked Lutetia out of all the other places you could've settled down, you picked here? You sure you aren't Scion scum." Sliding off the stool, she brought up her knee and grabbed the knife in her boot.
 
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