Encounterlogs
Sams Odd Encounter Sr Lark 250203
In a quiet evening at The Trove Barcade, bartender Sam finds himself in the midst of an odd encounter. After helping a carefree young man reclaim his lost belongings and snapping promotional photos for an energy drink startup, Sam's night takes a bizarre turn. The young man departs, leaving behind a vibrant neon green wristband and a chain of events that lead to an unexpected altercation. Shortly after, a reedy man requesting a gluten-free beer arrives, challenging Sam's patience and hospitality. Despite his specific dietary request, Sam serves him a regular beer leading to a disastrous outcome - the man becomes ill, vomiting over the bar. This incident attracts the attention of another patron, Elias, who alongside Sam, finds amusement in tormenting the afflicted customer.
As the situation escalates, the barcade becomes a stage for a series of confrontations, each more unsettling than the last. The arrival of Macy and a mention of Sam's and Elias's last names hints at a larger context of formal relationships and unresolved tensions beneath the surface interactions. The story concludes with the breakdown of Sam’s brief flirtation attempt with a redhead who mentions waiting for her boyfriend, further complicating the web of personal connections in the barcade. In the backdrop of these personal dramas, a subtle sense of camaraderie and rivalry surfaces, leaving the characters and the audience to ponder the nature of their late-night endeavours and the real motivations behind their actions.
(Sam's odd encounter(SRLark):SRLark)
[Sun Feb 2 2025]
At The Trove Barcade
This room is dominated by a sprawling, weathered bar. The bar's surface, polished to a high sheen, is inlaid with a mosaic of colorful sea glass, glinting in the dim, lantern-like lighting.
The walls, painted a deep, oceanic blue, are adorned with an eclectic assortment of nautical paraphernalia. Aged maps, and faded flags are interspersed with vintage arcade game marquees. The ceiling, draped with tattered sails and thick, knotted ropes, gives the impression of being below deck on a ship.
In the corners of the room, clusters of arcade games flicker and beep, their colorful screens casting a kaleidoscope of light onto the wooden floorboards. The air is filled with the clatter of pinball machines, the electronic melodies of video games, and the occasional thud of an axe hitting its target.
Behind the bar, a vast array of bottles is displayed, their contents ranging from craft beers to exotic rums. The bartenders, dressed in pirate garb, deftly mix cocktails, their movements punctuated by the clink of glass and the hiss of a freshly opened beer.
North/South: Restrooms
Northeast: Games
East: Axe Throwing
Southeast: Competitive Games
Down: Laser Tag
It is night, about 24F(-4C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. There is a waxing crescent moon.
(Your target has been afflicted with a curse that mentally regresses them back to the mental state of an irresponsible teenager. It is up to their allies to figure out what's happening and fix it before they do anything too bad.
)
Standing behind the bar at the Trove Barcade, Sam hums softly to himself as he wipes the bartop with his dingy dishcloth. He taps some at his phone, seemingly watching a list of something or rather. The bar is quiet, and he's enjoying some time to himself while he lazily looks around, waiting to see what the night will bring.
Sundays are by definition lazy days. And today seems to be no exception. Despite the evening now starting in earnest, the looming ghost of Monday lingers enough to keep most people at home tonight. A group of six college students emerges from the axe throwing room, gathering at the bar to give their goodbyes to one another. There are hugs and goodbyes exchanged as the students peter out of the barcade, in little clumps until no one is left at all. In the friendly bluster, a set of car keys is left upon the bar. Upon one of the barstools hangs a tote bag. And it seems that some poor soul has even left an empty Nalgene water bottle on the bar as well.
Humming, Sam takes that car-key, putting it in the drawer. He looks around, and sits on the stool at the bar, rummaging through the tote bag, perhaps looking for any way to contact the owner. Or at least, he's putting in a token effort.
Either way, he takes that bag, and puts it behind the bar too, in the lost and found drawer.
An athletic young man rushes back into the barcade, making a beeline for Sam at the bar. His wavy shoulder length hair is the kind of brown with flecks of gold and copper that people pay good money to get at the salon. His eyes have a certain warmth to their amber hues, that are currently now, entirely rested upon Sam as he leans up against the bar. "Hey man, think I left some things here. You seen anything?" He nods his head towards the door. "Was just here with some friends." It's vague sounding, though his smile is kind.
"Hey!" Sam gathers that tote bag, and nods his head. "Sure thing. Whatcha missing? I can go check the drawer." He does add a level of verification, especially to those car-keys. Meanwhile, he studies that fellow, his eyes roaming up and down the man's form, doing his standard mental checklist of things to check for.
The young man smiles, nods, seems relieved like any other normal individual who may patronize the bar. He's not wearing anything particularly of note: blue jeans, a tan knit sweater with a black coat, and black boots. "Yeah! My car keys. Had a bag with some books in it too." He checks his watch. "I'm late for something. Guess time was flying while having fun here."
A shrug, and Sam puts the tote bag and the keys on the bar, and smiles. "Well, yer lucky I saw em." He chuckles a little. "Buy an extra drink next time, yeh?" He ticks his fingers in his trademark salute, and returns to cleaning the bartop with that dingy ass dishcloth, humming to himself.
The young man takes all the items back, nodding. "Absolutely man. You're the best," he pulls out his wallet, sliding a twenty over to Sam. "Think you can do me a little favor too? I'm working part time doing PR for this energy drink startup." He reaches into his pocket again, pulling out now a neon green wristband with the word: XTREME ENERGY with a fireball logo next to it. "Could I take a picture of you with this on? It's really gonna help the socials and it'll save my ass for being late to my meeting if I have something to show for it!"
Chuckling somewhat, Sam shrugs lightly, and steps out from behind the bar. He removes his suit jacket, and rolls his sleeves up somewhat, then puts that wrist-band on.
He puts the wrist band on, and does a promo smile while he poses, putting up his best PR-award winning grin.
The young man pulls out his phone. It's shabby. It's questionable even if that motorola whatever the hell five generations back even really works. But it does! There's a *snap* *snap* *snap* sound as the young man takes a few different angles of Sam wearing the plastic wristband. "Fuck yeah, looking good, my man. So good. Amazing. Totally great. Amazing! So cool! The guys are gonna be so happy with this. You really are the best man, the best." The compliments are delivered thick and fast.
And when the young man finally seems ready, he checks the photos on his phone and calls out: "Thanks dude!" before he books it out of the barcade, leaving Sam and any other patrons there on this quiet Sunday.
Suddenly, Sam's expression darkens. He sits down on the stool behind the bar, and sort of glowers, eyes flicking about the room as he just sort of sulks, putting his hands deeply in his pockets.
The door to the barcade opens again. But it's not the handsome, athletic guy. No, it's as if there's the very opposite. Whereas the other young man stood straight and tall, this reedy fellow could stand to eat a couple hamburgers, and then some. The idea of them pumping iron may be laughable with how awkward skinny he is. With big, thick glasses, scraggly blonde hair and acne galore, the nerd makes his way to Sam at the bar. Even his breathing is labored, sounding: this guy's a mouth breather, that's for sure. He pushes his glasses up on the bridge on his nose and squints at Sam. "Do you have any gluten free beers?"
Sam's eyes fix on that guy. He snorts softly, and leans onto the bar. He looks the man up and down, and taps at his bar. "Sorry. Repeat that."
"Gluten..." he stifles a laugh, the jock not taking these kind of requests seriously at the best of time,s but now... no, he wasn't having it. "Gluten free fucking beer?" He outright laughs, and just shakes his head. "Wait, yeh, yeh, I gotcha."
The reedy guy looks confused for a moment, nodding. The motion causes his glasses to slip, so he pushes it back up the bridge of his nose again. "Yeah. Like without gluten. I guess you could say without gliadin if it's wheat beer, or without hordein if it's barley. I'm looking for beer that doesn't have prolamins and glutenins. But the uneducated and unrefined, just call it gluten free. I assume this establishment has something like that?" There's a huffiness extended from the reedy guy, he reaches into his pocket square to pull out a tiny notebook and pen. "Here, maybe if I draw the chemical structure, it'll be easier for you to understand."
"No, yeh, nah, nah, I gotcha." Sam turns around, and grabs one of his beers, pouring it into a glass. Definately not gluten free beer at all. He pours out the beer, making sure to hide that bottle from the man at the bar. He goes around the bar, and reaches over, placing that beer in front of the man.
"Hm?" He looks down at that wristband, trying to adjust it as he looks down at it.
Making his way into the Barcade, Elias casts his gray-blue gaze around the room, getting an assessment of whom is actually in the room and not. He settles his attention upon Sam, making his way over towards the bar.
When Sam glances at the plastic wristband, it looks entirely just like that: like a plastic wristband. The logo of that fireball is perhaps a touch obnoxious.
Meanwhile, the reedy nerd doesn't notice anything out of norm. He's too busy sketching out the chemical structure of gluten. By the time Sam comes back with the beer, he slides his tiny notebook towards the barkeep, pointing with an insistent finger. "Here, that's what gluten looks like. In case anyone asks in the future, now you know." The man sniffs, haughtily and swipes his beer up to take a sip.
Jacket off, Sam seems to be in the process of serving a reedy nerd with a beer. He seems in a particularly foul mood, the man just sitting down on his stool behind the bar. His eyes go over to Elias, though he seems to be looking eagerly towards that nerdy man at the bar. "How's yer beer?"
The nerdy man seems thirsty - and he doesn't seem to notice much at all, at first. He gets about halfway through his glass when a deep, red flush starts to set into his features, that acne on his face looking suddenly extra inflamed. He starts to sputter, putting that glass down on the bartop with a thudding clink. His hand reaches to his stomach and he doubles over, as if cramped. "That's not gluten-free beer, you troglodyte!" His face turns a sour shade as his free hand tries to cover his mouth. But it's too little too late, for watery vomit with unknown chunks begins to spew on top of that beautiful bar, dribbling also over the nerd's own clothes.
"So, how is it going this evening, Sam? You staying out of trouble." Elias asks Sam as he hooks a thumb into his pants pocket, making his way over towards the bar. He pauses as a puddle of vomit appears near his boots, "Hey dick. That is a party foul for sure. You going to make it right?" He asks, his gray-blue eyes focusing on the nerdy man with a growl in his tone.
Jumping aside, Sam is outright chortling, looking at the nerd as he shakes his head. "Nah, nah, ya just drank it wrong. Ya gonna mop that up?" He glares at the nerd, giving an outright cruel chuckle as he points to the beer, and he narrows his eyes to the man.
"Are ya saying my beer isn't tasty?"
He leans over to Elias, and shakes his head. "Nah, but he wanted beer, so he's gotta drink the beer."
"Party foul? PARTY FOUL?!" The nerd raises his voice at Elias before pointing at Sam. "This beefhead served me the gluten infested beer when I SPECIFICALLY ASKED for it to be gluten-free!" Vomit dribbles down his mouth, down his clothes, staining his pocket square even.
The reedy nerd whirls around towards Sam. "Me, mop that up?! I could sue!"
Casually, reaching along the back of his belt where a blade is sheathed subtly, Elias watches the interaction between the nerdy individual and Sam, on his face, it is clear he is a man that is contemplating striking.
A crack of his knuckles, and Sam narrows his eyes at the man. He aims a sock to the man's chin, and then grabs him by the collar. "listen here, ya fucking nerd, I don't know who the fuck you think you are, but ya best finish drinking that beer, or I'm gonna break your glasses, yadig?" He speaks softly, then pulls the man closer. "Ya. Dig?"
Making his way over towards the door to the Barcade, Elias reaches up and flicks the lock on the door, sealing all three into the room together. He flips the sign over to the closed side and crosses his arms, leaning up against the door as he watches on as Sam takes care of the nerdy guy, a small grin touching his expression.
The reedy man whimpers pitifully. He nods quickly at Sam, giving off a frightened squeak. "I-I can do that." His breath smells of residual vomit and his glasses slide down his face again, even as his trembling hand reaches for his glass. "Pleasedon'thurtme."
The man drinks down the rest of the non-gluten free beer, his eyes wide open and fearful.
"Good, there ya go, there ya go." Sam punches the man's arm, and his grin broadens. He crosses his arms over one another, and he lets out a slightly pig-like laugh, clearly more than a little amused.
"Want some breadsticks?" He jeers, watching the man's fear with a sadistic sort of enjoyment.
"Probably a good idea, it helps soak up all that alcohol in his stomach, you wouldn't want him to get drunk right? I am sure he has to drive himself home right? Or did his mother drop him off?" Elias asks Sam, his gray-blue eyes focused on the nerdy guy whom has been nothing but rude, "He probably doesn't want to be drunk in front of her, right? Because he is a good boy?" And then directed towards the nerdy guy, "You are a good boy, right?"
The man likely had been asking for gluten free for a reason. He doubles over again, that cramp intensifying. His hand reaches to his mouth again, but it's futile. There's no reply to Sam, nor to Elias, as it is physically impossible in the moment as that beer comes right back up through his mouth, spewing again, despite his best efforts. The nerd begins to cry, the muffled words coming through his audible sobs: "I just wanted a gluten free beer. You guys are psychos!" He begins to limp away from the bar... just as another patron enters: a redhead who specifically finds a place away from the vom-zone.
Immediately, the nerd is forgotten. Sam walks over to the readhead, and smiles an award-winning smile. He is fully dumping the barfing nerd on Elias, flashing that slightly sleezy grin.
He pauses. Entirely too long. "...Ey!" Is his super eliquent line.
And with a growl, Elias commands the nerdy guy, "I don't want to see you in here again unless you are ready to pay for all the damages here, a flat five grand should cover it." And with that he focuses on the nerdy guy as supernatural fear ripples off him, likely enhancing the fear the nerdy guy is already feeling.
The nerdy man squeaks in fright, his eyes widening. He nods, quickly, so quickly it's laughable, at Elias. "I- I don't have - wait, I have credit! I have credit!" His hands continue to tremble as he reaches for his wallet, offering two different credit cards to Elias with shaking hands. "Just please don't feed me breadsticks! I have Celiac's! It's a real thing! I fucking swear it's a real disorder!"
The redhead wrinkles her nose at the smell of something gross still in the air. She gives Elias a judgemental look as the vomit covered nerd pleads with him. The young woman rolls her eyes, and then looks back over to Sam. "Hey yourself, handsome." she quips. "What's good here?"
Plucking the cards from the nerd's hands, Elias gives him a shove out of the door, "Good night. Tell your mother I said hi." And he closes the door behind him as he tucks the credit cards into his shirt pocket. He makes his way back over the bar, "Could I get a glass of whiskey? Also, drinks on me tonight." He says, pulling one of the credits cards out of his pocket, setting it on the counter.
The poor nerd stumbles out of the doors to the barcade at that shove. The sounds of a person falling outside, and maybe something akin to glass cracking is heard. But those noises are soon followed by the uneven sound of footsteps that get further and fainter as the seconds pass.
leaning on one of the booths, Sam grins widely. "Yeh, uh, hey. I'm Sam." He is blushing a little there. He runs a hand through his hair, smiling broadly. "Ya want a drink? That guy there is buying." He nods to Elias, flashing a thumbs-up. "Thank you, dude." He smooths out his hair more, and grins at the redhead. "Wanna grab a booth?"
"Sam, huh? Cute name for a cutie," SRLark says back. "But no, I'm waiting for my boyfriend." Her eyes roam over to the vomit nearby. "Is that gonna get cleaned up?"
The redhead says back. Actually.
Immediately, Sam slinks back to the bar, and he goes to loiter at one of the stools, a surly expression on his face as he just leaves the redhead standing there, grumbling to himself.
He turns to Elias. "Fucking chicks, man, they kinda suck."
"Like suck suck or just suck?" Elias asks Sam with a smirk on his face and he shrugs, "Sounds like you need to find yourself a real woman. Or I guess in your case, a real man? Whatever, I don't judge."
As Sam pulls at the plastic wristband around Sam's wrist, the thing snaps. Not at first, but after more insistent tugging.
The redhead remains at the bar, looking confused at what she said wrong.
Macy steps into the Trove from outside, shaking off the cold. She pulls up to the bar too, waving at Sam and bowing her head. "Mister Hansen, Mister Phisher... I'm not sure how much formality you'd like out of me."
Briefly, Sam rubs at his face, then looks to Elias. "Okay. That... okay." He looks at the redhead, and just goes right back to the stool behind the bar as he chuckles some to Elias. "Okay, that was... weird." He looks at a broken little wristband in his hand, and purses his lips. "Okay. Right. Okay then."
"Formalities are always good to put in practice. It helps keep a level of professionalism within everything you do." Elias reminds Macy with a small smile, "So you did well, Miss Steinbeck."
As the situation escalates, the barcade becomes a stage for a series of confrontations, each more unsettling than the last. The arrival of Macy and a mention of Sam's and Elias's last names hints at a larger context of formal relationships and unresolved tensions beneath the surface interactions. The story concludes with the breakdown of Sam’s brief flirtation attempt with a redhead who mentions waiting for her boyfriend, further complicating the web of personal connections in the barcade. In the backdrop of these personal dramas, a subtle sense of camaraderie and rivalry surfaces, leaving the characters and the audience to ponder the nature of their late-night endeavours and the real motivations behind their actions.
(Sam's odd encounter(SRLark):SRLark)
[Sun Feb 2 2025]
At The Trove Barcade
This room is dominated by a sprawling, weathered bar. The bar's surface, polished to a high sheen, is inlaid with a mosaic of colorful sea glass, glinting in the dim, lantern-like lighting.
The walls, painted a deep, oceanic blue, are adorned with an eclectic assortment of nautical paraphernalia. Aged maps, and faded flags are interspersed with vintage arcade game marquees. The ceiling, draped with tattered sails and thick, knotted ropes, gives the impression of being below deck on a ship.
In the corners of the room, clusters of arcade games flicker and beep, their colorful screens casting a kaleidoscope of light onto the wooden floorboards. The air is filled with the clatter of pinball machines, the electronic melodies of video games, and the occasional thud of an axe hitting its target.
Behind the bar, a vast array of bottles is displayed, their contents ranging from craft beers to exotic rums. The bartenders, dressed in pirate garb, deftly mix cocktails, their movements punctuated by the clink of glass and the hiss of a freshly opened beer.
North/South: Restrooms
Northeast: Games
East: Axe Throwing
Southeast: Competitive Games
Down: Laser Tag
It is night, about 24F(-4C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. There is a waxing crescent moon.
(Your target has been afflicted with a curse that mentally regresses them back to the mental state of an irresponsible teenager. It is up to their allies to figure out what's happening and fix it before they do anything too bad.
)
Standing behind the bar at the Trove Barcade, Sam hums softly to himself as he wipes the bartop with his dingy dishcloth. He taps some at his phone, seemingly watching a list of something or rather. The bar is quiet, and he's enjoying some time to himself while he lazily looks around, waiting to see what the night will bring.
Sundays are by definition lazy days. And today seems to be no exception. Despite the evening now starting in earnest, the looming ghost of Monday lingers enough to keep most people at home tonight. A group of six college students emerges from the axe throwing room, gathering at the bar to give their goodbyes to one another. There are hugs and goodbyes exchanged as the students peter out of the barcade, in little clumps until no one is left at all. In the friendly bluster, a set of car keys is left upon the bar. Upon one of the barstools hangs a tote bag. And it seems that some poor soul has even left an empty Nalgene water bottle on the bar as well.
Humming, Sam takes that car-key, putting it in the drawer. He looks around, and sits on the stool at the bar, rummaging through the tote bag, perhaps looking for any way to contact the owner. Or at least, he's putting in a token effort.
Either way, he takes that bag, and puts it behind the bar too, in the lost and found drawer.
An athletic young man rushes back into the barcade, making a beeline for Sam at the bar. His wavy shoulder length hair is the kind of brown with flecks of gold and copper that people pay good money to get at the salon. His eyes have a certain warmth to their amber hues, that are currently now, entirely rested upon Sam as he leans up against the bar. "Hey man, think I left some things here. You seen anything?" He nods his head towards the door. "Was just here with some friends." It's vague sounding, though his smile is kind.
"Hey!" Sam gathers that tote bag, and nods his head. "Sure thing. Whatcha missing? I can go check the drawer." He does add a level of verification, especially to those car-keys. Meanwhile, he studies that fellow, his eyes roaming up and down the man's form, doing his standard mental checklist of things to check for.
The young man smiles, nods, seems relieved like any other normal individual who may patronize the bar. He's not wearing anything particularly of note: blue jeans, a tan knit sweater with a black coat, and black boots. "Yeah! My car keys. Had a bag with some books in it too." He checks his watch. "I'm late for something. Guess time was flying while having fun here."
A shrug, and Sam puts the tote bag and the keys on the bar, and smiles. "Well, yer lucky I saw em." He chuckles a little. "Buy an extra drink next time, yeh?" He ticks his fingers in his trademark salute, and returns to cleaning the bartop with that dingy ass dishcloth, humming to himself.
The young man takes all the items back, nodding. "Absolutely man. You're the best," he pulls out his wallet, sliding a twenty over to Sam. "Think you can do me a little favor too? I'm working part time doing PR for this energy drink startup." He reaches into his pocket again, pulling out now a neon green wristband with the word: XTREME ENERGY with a fireball logo next to it. "Could I take a picture of you with this on? It's really gonna help the socials and it'll save my ass for being late to my meeting if I have something to show for it!"
Chuckling somewhat, Sam shrugs lightly, and steps out from behind the bar. He removes his suit jacket, and rolls his sleeves up somewhat, then puts that wrist-band on.
He puts the wrist band on, and does a promo smile while he poses, putting up his best PR-award winning grin.
The young man pulls out his phone. It's shabby. It's questionable even if that motorola whatever the hell five generations back even really works. But it does! There's a *snap* *snap* *snap* sound as the young man takes a few different angles of Sam wearing the plastic wristband. "Fuck yeah, looking good, my man. So good. Amazing. Totally great. Amazing! So cool! The guys are gonna be so happy with this. You really are the best man, the best." The compliments are delivered thick and fast.
And when the young man finally seems ready, he checks the photos on his phone and calls out: "Thanks dude!" before he books it out of the barcade, leaving Sam and any other patrons there on this quiet Sunday.
Suddenly, Sam's expression darkens. He sits down on the stool behind the bar, and sort of glowers, eyes flicking about the room as he just sort of sulks, putting his hands deeply in his pockets.
The door to the barcade opens again. But it's not the handsome, athletic guy. No, it's as if there's the very opposite. Whereas the other young man stood straight and tall, this reedy fellow could stand to eat a couple hamburgers, and then some. The idea of them pumping iron may be laughable with how awkward skinny he is. With big, thick glasses, scraggly blonde hair and acne galore, the nerd makes his way to Sam at the bar. Even his breathing is labored, sounding: this guy's a mouth breather, that's for sure. He pushes his glasses up on the bridge on his nose and squints at Sam. "Do you have any gluten free beers?"
Sam's eyes fix on that guy. He snorts softly, and leans onto the bar. He looks the man up and down, and taps at his bar. "Sorry. Repeat that."
"Gluten..." he stifles a laugh, the jock not taking these kind of requests seriously at the best of time,s but now... no, he wasn't having it. "Gluten free fucking beer?" He outright laughs, and just shakes his head. "Wait, yeh, yeh, I gotcha."
The reedy guy looks confused for a moment, nodding. The motion causes his glasses to slip, so he pushes it back up the bridge of his nose again. "Yeah. Like without gluten. I guess you could say without gliadin if it's wheat beer, or without hordein if it's barley. I'm looking for beer that doesn't have prolamins and glutenins. But the uneducated and unrefined, just call it gluten free. I assume this establishment has something like that?" There's a huffiness extended from the reedy guy, he reaches into his pocket square to pull out a tiny notebook and pen. "Here, maybe if I draw the chemical structure, it'll be easier for you to understand."
"No, yeh, nah, nah, I gotcha." Sam turns around, and grabs one of his beers, pouring it into a glass. Definately not gluten free beer at all. He pours out the beer, making sure to hide that bottle from the man at the bar. He goes around the bar, and reaches over, placing that beer in front of the man.
"Hm?" He looks down at that wristband, trying to adjust it as he looks down at it.
Making his way into the Barcade, Elias casts his gray-blue gaze around the room, getting an assessment of whom is actually in the room and not. He settles his attention upon Sam, making his way over towards the bar.
When Sam glances at the plastic wristband, it looks entirely just like that: like a plastic wristband. The logo of that fireball is perhaps a touch obnoxious.
Meanwhile, the reedy nerd doesn't notice anything out of norm. He's too busy sketching out the chemical structure of gluten. By the time Sam comes back with the beer, he slides his tiny notebook towards the barkeep, pointing with an insistent finger. "Here, that's what gluten looks like. In case anyone asks in the future, now you know." The man sniffs, haughtily and swipes his beer up to take a sip.
Jacket off, Sam seems to be in the process of serving a reedy nerd with a beer. He seems in a particularly foul mood, the man just sitting down on his stool behind the bar. His eyes go over to Elias, though he seems to be looking eagerly towards that nerdy man at the bar. "How's yer beer?"
The nerdy man seems thirsty - and he doesn't seem to notice much at all, at first. He gets about halfway through his glass when a deep, red flush starts to set into his features, that acne on his face looking suddenly extra inflamed. He starts to sputter, putting that glass down on the bartop with a thudding clink. His hand reaches to his stomach and he doubles over, as if cramped. "That's not gluten-free beer, you troglodyte!" His face turns a sour shade as his free hand tries to cover his mouth. But it's too little too late, for watery vomit with unknown chunks begins to spew on top of that beautiful bar, dribbling also over the nerd's own clothes.
"So, how is it going this evening, Sam? You staying out of trouble." Elias asks Sam as he hooks a thumb into his pants pocket, making his way over towards the bar. He pauses as a puddle of vomit appears near his boots, "Hey dick. That is a party foul for sure. You going to make it right?" He asks, his gray-blue eyes focusing on the nerdy man with a growl in his tone.
Jumping aside, Sam is outright chortling, looking at the nerd as he shakes his head. "Nah, nah, ya just drank it wrong. Ya gonna mop that up?" He glares at the nerd, giving an outright cruel chuckle as he points to the beer, and he narrows his eyes to the man.
"Are ya saying my beer isn't tasty?"
He leans over to Elias, and shakes his head. "Nah, but he wanted beer, so he's gotta drink the beer."
"Party foul? PARTY FOUL?!" The nerd raises his voice at Elias before pointing at Sam. "This beefhead served me the gluten infested beer when I SPECIFICALLY ASKED for it to be gluten-free!" Vomit dribbles down his mouth, down his clothes, staining his pocket square even.
The reedy nerd whirls around towards Sam. "Me, mop that up?! I could sue!"
Casually, reaching along the back of his belt where a blade is sheathed subtly, Elias watches the interaction between the nerdy individual and Sam, on his face, it is clear he is a man that is contemplating striking.
A crack of his knuckles, and Sam narrows his eyes at the man. He aims a sock to the man's chin, and then grabs him by the collar. "listen here, ya fucking nerd, I don't know who the fuck you think you are, but ya best finish drinking that beer, or I'm gonna break your glasses, yadig?" He speaks softly, then pulls the man closer. "Ya. Dig?"
Making his way over towards the door to the Barcade, Elias reaches up and flicks the lock on the door, sealing all three into the room together. He flips the sign over to the closed side and crosses his arms, leaning up against the door as he watches on as Sam takes care of the nerdy guy, a small grin touching his expression.
The reedy man whimpers pitifully. He nods quickly at Sam, giving off a frightened squeak. "I-I can do that." His breath smells of residual vomit and his glasses slide down his face again, even as his trembling hand reaches for his glass. "Pleasedon'thurtme."
The man drinks down the rest of the non-gluten free beer, his eyes wide open and fearful.
"Good, there ya go, there ya go." Sam punches the man's arm, and his grin broadens. He crosses his arms over one another, and he lets out a slightly pig-like laugh, clearly more than a little amused.
"Want some breadsticks?" He jeers, watching the man's fear with a sadistic sort of enjoyment.
"Probably a good idea, it helps soak up all that alcohol in his stomach, you wouldn't want him to get drunk right? I am sure he has to drive himself home right? Or did his mother drop him off?" Elias asks Sam, his gray-blue eyes focused on the nerdy guy whom has been nothing but rude, "He probably doesn't want to be drunk in front of her, right? Because he is a good boy?" And then directed towards the nerdy guy, "You are a good boy, right?"
The man likely had been asking for gluten free for a reason. He doubles over again, that cramp intensifying. His hand reaches to his mouth again, but it's futile. There's no reply to Sam, nor to Elias, as it is physically impossible in the moment as that beer comes right back up through his mouth, spewing again, despite his best efforts. The nerd begins to cry, the muffled words coming through his audible sobs: "I just wanted a gluten free beer. You guys are psychos!" He begins to limp away from the bar... just as another patron enters: a redhead who specifically finds a place away from the vom-zone.
Immediately, the nerd is forgotten. Sam walks over to the readhead, and smiles an award-winning smile. He is fully dumping the barfing nerd on Elias, flashing that slightly sleezy grin.
He pauses. Entirely too long. "...Ey!" Is his super eliquent line.
And with a growl, Elias commands the nerdy guy, "I don't want to see you in here again unless you are ready to pay for all the damages here, a flat five grand should cover it." And with that he focuses on the nerdy guy as supernatural fear ripples off him, likely enhancing the fear the nerdy guy is already feeling.
The nerdy man squeaks in fright, his eyes widening. He nods, quickly, so quickly it's laughable, at Elias. "I- I don't have - wait, I have credit! I have credit!" His hands continue to tremble as he reaches for his wallet, offering two different credit cards to Elias with shaking hands. "Just please don't feed me breadsticks! I have Celiac's! It's a real thing! I fucking swear it's a real disorder!"
The redhead wrinkles her nose at the smell of something gross still in the air. She gives Elias a judgemental look as the vomit covered nerd pleads with him. The young woman rolls her eyes, and then looks back over to Sam. "Hey yourself, handsome." she quips. "What's good here?"
Plucking the cards from the nerd's hands, Elias gives him a shove out of the door, "Good night. Tell your mother I said hi." And he closes the door behind him as he tucks the credit cards into his shirt pocket. He makes his way back over the bar, "Could I get a glass of whiskey? Also, drinks on me tonight." He says, pulling one of the credits cards out of his pocket, setting it on the counter.
The poor nerd stumbles out of the doors to the barcade at that shove. The sounds of a person falling outside, and maybe something akin to glass cracking is heard. But those noises are soon followed by the uneven sound of footsteps that get further and fainter as the seconds pass.
leaning on one of the booths, Sam grins widely. "Yeh, uh, hey. I'm Sam." He is blushing a little there. He runs a hand through his hair, smiling broadly. "Ya want a drink? That guy there is buying." He nods to Elias, flashing a thumbs-up. "Thank you, dude." He smooths out his hair more, and grins at the redhead. "Wanna grab a booth?"
"Sam, huh? Cute name for a cutie," SRLark says back. "But no, I'm waiting for my boyfriend." Her eyes roam over to the vomit nearby. "Is that gonna get cleaned up?"
The redhead says back. Actually.
Immediately, Sam slinks back to the bar, and he goes to loiter at one of the stools, a surly expression on his face as he just leaves the redhead standing there, grumbling to himself.
He turns to Elias. "Fucking chicks, man, they kinda suck."
"Like suck suck or just suck?" Elias asks Sam with a smirk on his face and he shrugs, "Sounds like you need to find yourself a real woman. Or I guess in your case, a real man? Whatever, I don't judge."
As Sam pulls at the plastic wristband around Sam's wrist, the thing snaps. Not at first, but after more insistent tugging.
The redhead remains at the bar, looking confused at what she said wrong.
Macy steps into the Trove from outside, shaking off the cold. She pulls up to the bar too, waving at Sam and bowing her head. "Mister Hansen, Mister Phisher... I'm not sure how much formality you'd like out of me."
Briefly, Sam rubs at his face, then looks to Elias. "Okay. That... okay." He looks at the redhead, and just goes right back to the stool behind the bar as he chuckles some to Elias. "Okay, that was... weird." He looks at a broken little wristband in his hand, and purses his lips. "Okay. Right. Okay then."
"Formalities are always good to put in practice. It helps keep a level of professionalism within everything you do." Elias reminds Macy with a small smile, "So you did well, Miss Steinbeck."