Post by Miles Landon on Sept 22, 2008 20:44:32 GMT -5
Ah, the local pub. The bar, the tavern, the boozer. A haven, a sanctuary for men of all ages. A place to escape the turmoil of the workday and the incessant nagging of their wives. There they could drink themselves into oblivion while bending the ear of the bartender. Call it therapy. Miles Landon, however, needed sanctuary in the traditional sense. He needed safety. He was on the run from many many people who wanted him dead, and the worst part as these were the good guys. He had been maneuvered into a situation where he looked like a multiple murderer and a copkiller. His entire life had been turned upside down, but for what purpose.
Hell if he knew. He just ran.
There was only one place he could think that might protect him. Well, two, but the other wasn't viable yet. Joker's Bar would provide a bit of anonymity and safety. Give him enough time to think, gather information, plan. Most people would figure he was just muscle, mostly people who knew his association with James Mustang. But since he was young he had been taught strategy and tactical thinking by his grandfather. His grandfather was a...very dangerous man. He was part of the reason for Miles' curse.
Good sense dictated that he should find a place to regroup, wash up, and figure things out. Joker was no great lover of the Ministry and Miles was a good customer as of late, so Joker's it was. He arrived at the bar in a timely manner, but just as he was about to enter he realized he must look like crap. He was kinda covered in blood. Not so much that you'd notice, but he wouldn't hold up to close scrutiny. Damn, too late now. He pushed the door open and entered the bar.
It was fairly empty, there were only a couple of regulars who he recognized on sight and scent. They didn't even look up. It looked like no one was tending the bar. Must be in the backroom, then. He sat at the bar and waited. Now that he had a moment of peace, he could think. Who had motives against him? He had killed his fair share of Shadows before and during the actual war. Taking life wasn't easy for him, but life during wartime wasn't easy, either. Maybe family looking for revenge? What about the BFC? They were fanatically bigoted against any creature they considered "unnatural." Could they have made up this elaborate frame, just to get him? Could they have murdered four, five, seven innocent people just to get to him? Maybe. But what else was left? What were the possibilities? Too many to count.
But what if it was something he couldn't think of? Boy, oh boy, he was a bit screwed. He sat at the bar and waited for a barkeep. His drink? A ginger ale.
At least that answer came easy.
Hell if he knew. He just ran.
There was only one place he could think that might protect him. Well, two, but the other wasn't viable yet. Joker's Bar would provide a bit of anonymity and safety. Give him enough time to think, gather information, plan. Most people would figure he was just muscle, mostly people who knew his association with James Mustang. But since he was young he had been taught strategy and tactical thinking by his grandfather. His grandfather was a...very dangerous man. He was part of the reason for Miles' curse.
Good sense dictated that he should find a place to regroup, wash up, and figure things out. Joker was no great lover of the Ministry and Miles was a good customer as of late, so Joker's it was. He arrived at the bar in a timely manner, but just as he was about to enter he realized he must look like crap. He was kinda covered in blood. Not so much that you'd notice, but he wouldn't hold up to close scrutiny. Damn, too late now. He pushed the door open and entered the bar.
It was fairly empty, there were only a couple of regulars who he recognized on sight and scent. They didn't even look up. It looked like no one was tending the bar. Must be in the backroom, then. He sat at the bar and waited. Now that he had a moment of peace, he could think. Who had motives against him? He had killed his fair share of Shadows before and during the actual war. Taking life wasn't easy for him, but life during wartime wasn't easy, either. Maybe family looking for revenge? What about the BFC? They were fanatically bigoted against any creature they considered "unnatural." Could they have made up this elaborate frame, just to get him? Could they have murdered four, five, seven innocent people just to get to him? Maybe. But what else was left? What were the possibilities? Too many to count.
But what if it was something he couldn't think of? Boy, oh boy, he was a bit screwed. He sat at the bar and waited for a barkeep. His drink? A ginger ale.
At least that answer came easy.