Comments | onoratalogs: Finished/Closed

stonyfaced in onoratalogs

Finished/Closed

Nov 05, 2008 19:08

WHO: Samuel Vimes and Ken Hidaka + anybody else who arrives
WHAT: Vimes does whathe does best and Ken runs into him? We shall see!
WHERE: Miscellenous neutral sleazy bar with a few inconspicuous mobsters and coppers here and there.
WHEN: Day 177
OPEN TO: Anybody who likes to drink, or to socialize with drinkers?

( It was a bar like any other: contained depressed faces, drunken faces, faces that looked as if they belonged to rock, and an off-putting odour that nobody really managed to define. )

ken hidaka, sam vimes

Comments 36

artiglio November 6 2008, 03:42:02 UTC

Just finishing up work at his second job, Ken decided he didn't want to go home quite yet. For the lack of anything else to do, he decided to stop by the bar on his way home. You know, have a drink or so, and hang out with people for a couple of hours. Surround himself with the living. With happy (mostly) faces, and loud voices telling bad jokes.

Parking about a block away to keep his bike safe from the fresh from the bar goers, he strolled over, hands in his pockets and humming a happy tune.

stonyfaced November 6 2008, 05:03:45 UTC

Blowing smoke between his teeth, Vimes noted with some distaste that some young guy was walking towards the pub. From the looks of it, naive, with little a care in the world because things looked invincible back then, probably reckless with a gun and probably bringing a helluva lot more people to the bar ( ... )

artiglio November 6 2008, 05:13:10 UTC

As it happened, the only opening to the bartender was right beside Mr. Gloomy guts. Ken slipped in with a soft "excuse me" and ordered one of those cheap, generic, not too bad beers. He pouted good naturedlly when the bartender demanded ID, not believing he was old enough to be there, but handed it over with a soft laugh, not offended in the least.

Eventually he did get his beer, but Ken didn't seem to be moving very fast out of the way, chatting happily with the bar tender about that day's sports games.

stonyfaced November 6 2008, 06:02:18 UTC

When Vimes finished his drink, the world wasn't looking a bit fuzzier, but not nearly fuzzy enough. "'Scuse me," he said. Pleasantly, for him. The bartender kept on chatting to the kid beside him, jibbering about sports, or as Vimes put it, glorified, legal brawling. Not that there was anything wrong with it; even the most legal of them needed to get excess energy out by doing what should have been called the city's passtime: violence. Great fun, that. At least in sports, there was a notable lack of guns and brass knuckles.

"'Scuse me!" A bit louder, now, but not angry. No response. "Hey!" Damn. How long had he known this bartend for? How long had this bartend milked him of his money in exchange for good drink? How many times had he passed out on this filthy floor? Vimes thought he deserved better service than this.

"Horace!" He barked, frowning at the boy sitting beside him. It was one thing to be friendly, but another one entirely to deprive a man of his drink. The bartend gave a little jump and glanced over, ( ... )

Thread 31

stonyfaced November 8 2008, 08:11:32 UTC

Vimes whipped his head around as Ken caught the fist behind him. Shit. He should have anticipated that. "Thanks," he said lamely, before facing the man square in the face. "You're drunk."

"Naw, I'm--"

"Yeah, you're drunk, and that was assault on an officer. That's against the law, it is." In times like these, Vimes stuck to the book. It was the easiest way of doing things.

"Nobody follows the law."

"Yeah, well, I do. So you're gonna come back to the jails with me and help me drag these two bastards there too, got it?" Vimes frowned severely at the man and dug a cigarette from out of his pocket and lit it. "I'm off duty, but I'm still a cop, so I'll let you off with a warning and a small fine, 'cos you can't get away scot free, but you have to come with me. We can either do it like that, or I can clout you with my gun. Which is, inshident--incident--incidentally, loaded."

"You're drunk too!"

"Yeah, but I'm a drunk cop Some things only made sense to drunks and people who had very special ways of thinking ( ... )

artiglio November 8 2008, 09:20:21 UTC

Ken sighed and smiled. "You're welcome Vimes." He said, righting a table that had gotten knocked over when the glass was thrown. He looked at Vimes, he looked at the still conscious criminal, and then at the one still on the floor.

"Are you going to be able to march them there alright Vimes?"

Not that he wanted to get anywhere near the police station, but, he would help Vimes out if he was asked.

stonyfaced November 8 2008, 23:05:23 UTC

Vimes stared down at the criminals silently for a moment, thoughts marching across his brain ( ... )

artiglio November 9 2008, 06:14:36 UTC

Ken watched Vimes wrangle up the fighters and shook his head. Even drunks, it seemed the cop was determined to do his job, and to do it properly. If only people like that ran the AMC, the world might be a better place.

"Well, if you're sure you'll be alright." Ken said, with a final nod. "You're fun to drink with, we should meet back up sometime." The boy meant this sincerely. He considered Vimes good conversation.

"If you ever wanna get a hold of me, just call the tea shop, they usually know where I can be found."

stonyfaced November 9 2008, 21:16:50 UTC

"Yeah," Vimes said, with a bark of sardonic laughter. "I'll be back here. Always am." Then, as one of the presumed unconcious men got to his feet, Vimes lifted him up by his shoulder.

"Come on, lads, back to the jail." Vimes knew almost every repeat offendor and drunkard in town. Hell, he'd probably drank with half of 'em. With that, they all shuffled out, Vimes towering over them despite the fact that he was actually rather short. He was the figurative sheperd, leading his soon-to-be-hungover sheep.

It... it worked. Sort of. It was like religion, but not, and Vimes believed in God not because he had faith, but because he was worried that God did exist. Vimes didn't fancy being turned into a pillar of salt or some shit. As he thought about what place God had for petty pickpockets and drunks, the door slammed behind him.