You're Kidding Me? Dragons? (Dregan)

Exhale. Watch the smoke flow from his own mouth.

Suck it in. Breathe the filth.

Exhale. Inhale. Repeat

Johnny Goodman takes another drag of his cigarette as he drives into town. The roads had been long, and the hotel rooms were plenty lonely. He did it, though. He entered the west coast city known as Los Angeles.”The city of Angels” they call it. Hopefully, there were none out tonight. Evil events were ready to unfold, and a bloody angel was just what Goodman needed to get into his way.

After seeing what he has, he wouldn’t be surprised. There was already men and women who travelled the air with wings that can’t be explained by normal science. Why wouldn’t angels be next? Oh! Or demons! Or dragons! God, wouldn’t it be just grand to fight a dragon?

After another hour of thinking to himself about the horrible state the world is in with all of the freaks free to go be ‘heroes’, he arrives at the place where this guy apparently goes to every night: The Drunk Monkey. Goodman did his research on the place. It’s a small bar. The owner lives in a flat above the tiny pub. He doesn’t brew any of his own ale, and what is brought in is only done so with deals that promise to keep the Monkey stocked for months at a time, so there’s a limited selection. They sell basic snack foods, but never registered under a restaurant license so they can only sell snacks that they themselves do not cook. That’s a good thing, because the building isn’t large enough nor is up to regulation for a kitchen. There are two doors leading to outside. The first is how the patrons enter. The second is in the back, which leads to an alley. There have been five incidents reported to the police within the past two months. The average response time was around seven minutes. Luckily, the bar was currently in a bit of trouble financially. The bar honestly shouldn’t be keeping up, with a limited selection of alcohol no kitchen to sell cheap food, and the awful location, it didn’t make sense. The bar owner must have been doing something extra to make money and passing it off as ‘tips’. The last three points were important to Goodman. They were how he was going to get this done.

He parked his van a block away. It wasn’t for any incognito purposes, rather there was no parking available. That made things a bit more difficult, especially if he WOULD run into law enforcement. In the past he has been in much worse situations and gotten away without a scratch. This was going to be no different. Besides, even if somehow the police were called in, he would already be gone and on his way back to New York.There was no way for this to possibly go wrong.

Unless, you know. There were angels or demons or dragons or tree-men or Greek Gods or whatever jazz could go wrong. He’s had perfectly simple jobs interrupted by men who could shapeshift, and women who could shoot electricity from her hands. They say to expect the unexpected. Goodman doesn’t. If the unexpected arrives, though, he’s ready to put a bullet in its mutated face.

Before going into the building, he made sure he was ready for a fight. On his body were two knives, as well as a small set of three throwing knives. He kept his Smith & Wesson .500 at his side, and strapped to each arm was a small glock. He decided on whether or not to bring the shotgun, but if something DID happen in the bar, he would feel responsible for the decor. No place of business looks good with scatter in the wall. He understood the owner was trying to make a living doing something he loved, and he wasn’t willing to hinder that with his own actions.

---

Upon walking into the Drunk Monkey, a few eyes were on him. After all, his apparel made him stand out. Most in this tavern were in rags or plain T-Shirts. Goodman wore a white button-up, with a tie he had made loose around his neck. He waved off a few of the eyes, and tried playing it like a man just getting off of work. Of course, anyone who had a job nice enough for the need to dress-up was out of place here.

After a few minutes, the stares went away, and he called for the bartender to come his way. It was the owner, a ginger very clearly from Irish descent.

”Ah! I should have known. An Irish running a bar.”

”Aye! What was that?”

”Calm down, I’m joking. Give me a drink, will yuh. Whatever’s cheapest.”

As Goodman said that, he slid a $100 across the table. He added, in a very smooth fashion:

”If you can talk with me a bit, you can keep the change.”

At first, the eyes of the owner widened, but finally he leaned over and spoke in a hushed tone.

”Aye. What is it you wan’a talk about.?”

”For starters… How much do you like cash?”

”Enough that if you keep sending it my way, I’ll be your best friend.”

”I don’t quite need a best friend. Just a guy willing to turn his back if something were to happen.”

”How much are you paying me? You know, illegal activity is very frowned upon around here!”

”Oh, don’t try robbing me into more money. I’m already willing to pay a fair amount. Two hundred, but you make sure nobody in this bar calls the cops or makes a scene. Got it?”

”Have you seen these guys? About 60% dropped out of high school. It seems the other 40 didn’t even go. Everyone here is a troublemaker, or someone that’ll be too scared to do anythin’.”

”I’m trusting you with my service. I come from a group of people that could make or break this little place you have here. Don’t make me regret this.”

As he says that, he slides out two more Benjamins that he had already prepared.

”I need another favor. There’s a man who apparently comes in here a lot. Franklin Dubois. Works an office job. Short cut blonde hair. Sound familiar?”

”Well how am I supposed to know if-”

”I just paid you three hundred dollars with no checkbook trail. Just tell me what I want to know. I know he’s a regular. I want to know everything you can tell me about him.”

”Aye! Alright, alright! He comes in here when he can sneak away from his wife. He always moans and groans about his life, and then drinks until he passes out. Occasionally he’s smart enough to take a cab home, but on most nights he’s a mess here and needs a friend o’ his to take him home.”

”So he brings a friend?”

”Correct.”

”How big is his group?”

”He drinks with anyone that’ll listen to him, but he only has his friend who is always here.”

”Thanks, thanks. Hey, whenever he comes in here…”

Two twenty dollar bills are slid across the table.

”Buy him whatever will get him the most drunk with this amount of money. From me.”

---

A few hours pass. It wasn’t the most thrilling job to just sit around and wait for a drunk to kill, but it was his duty. How could a guy with a life this terrible actually pose a threat to the Gangatinos? It was almost sad that he was going to have to take him out. Almost.

His story was an odd one. He was an accountant at a firm a few of the businesses the Gangatinos ‘protected’ hired. A bit of snooping around, and he discovered that a decent chunk of change wasn’t being accounted for. This led to a few phone calls, which led to the Gangatinos finding out, which led to this.

He was a threat to the family.

He needed to be exterminated.

Finally, the bastard came in. He and his buddy were both dressed casually, and they greeted a few people at the bar. They were definitely common around here, and that might have caused an issue. No matter, the two hundred dollars to the bar owner to keep crowd control should be enough. After a bit of talking between Franklin, his pal, and the owner, the Irishman gave him a few drinks that were ‘from a friend’, and then gave Goodman a nod. After a bit more of waiting, the drinks started to kick in, and that was when the Swagman got ready to strike. He called the bartender over, ordered a drink, and as it was being poured to him whispered ”I’ll take it outside so there’s no blood in your bar. Keep up this place. It’s nice.” The owner nodded back, then pushed a shot glass full of whiskey forward. Goodman took it and stepped over to Franklin and his pal, and placed himself between them, resting each hand on one of their shoulders.

”You like the drinks I got you?”

”From you, eh? Was hoping they were from a lady, but a free drink is a free drink. Do I know you?”

”Yeah, who are you again?”

”Ah! You’ve already had that much to drink Frankie? Don’t you remember me? Come ‘ere you!”

With that, the mood shifted immediately. Goodman downed his shot immediately and slammed the glass down on the table. Then, he grabbed both men in a headlock, and started to forcibly drag them to the back door. Some patrons cheered it on, others ran in fear, but most were just watching to see what would happen. The men tried fighting back, but the headlocks were tight. He managed to get them to the back door, which he had kicked open. He shoved them outside, and that was when he was getting ready to fight them. He cracked his neck, hoping for no distractions.

There was something of a reputation, Sion had learned, about the British and their drinking habits. Having spent a fair degree of time overseas now, he'd learnt that perhaps the people of his background tended to... overindulge a little. There was certainly a stereotype that seemed to follow him around that any nights binging would still see him right as rain in the morning.
Considering that, there was certainly something to be said for the image of an Englishman localing an Irishman's bar. It sort of reminded him of a joke he'd heard before... only there was no Scotsman in sight. It was a pity in a way - albeit probably for the best. Sharing a vaguely similar heritage would perhaps find enough common ground for a stranger to get chatty, and unfortunately, he wasn't here tonight to socialise.

Okay, so... some of the previous attempts at heroing had turned out to be kind of a bust. Whilst borrowing a radio and keying into police frequencies had previously seemed like a good idea, it had more often than not just resulted in him being late to the crime scene - and on more than one occasion having to awkwardly chat with the cops about whether or not he was actually still needed. Turned out, despite the reputation, a lot of the time law enforcement COULD manage matters by themselves. It was kind of embarassing to turn up in tights only to be told that the requirement for a giant lizard man was particularly low that day.
Thusly, he considered, it was time to get a little more pre-emptive. He needed to be on-scene in time to stop crimes - rather than having to race cop cars to the scene in a bid to do the job they'd otherwise be handling anyway. Therefore, it was important to listen out to work on the streets - and stake out the hotspots.
Five incidents in the past two months? Now that, THAT was worth keeping an eye on. Who KNEW when something else in that area would spike up?
...If he was entirely honest, Sion hoped it would be soon. It turned out that wearing his tights under his trousers didn't exactly make for the most comfortable clothing in this weather.

Still, in time it seemed that his hopes and prayers would be answered. Just as he was sitting down with his second pint, a rather unusual figure entered the bar. Suit, tie, he looked like the business. And with the way he seemed to be murmuring to the barkeep... he probably meant business as well.
...The bad kind of business.
Not the- not the usual 'suit and tie' type of business.
Sion knew what he meant.
Looking back to his drink, he couldn't help but sigh. It looked like he'd have to take it a little easy on the alcohol for tonight... Shifting the glass to one side, he sat back... and observed.

Time ticked by - and from an outside look, it became clear that the suit had an eye on someone himself. A blonde haired gent had since entered the bar, and without ever paying seemed to be finding himself served more and more. It was a long, arduous process of waiting - and Sion couldn't help but wonder if the suited gentleman was feeling just as impatient. It was increasingly clear from observation that the out-of-place figure wasn't exactly drinking too much himself - that he was waiting and observing for himself. The Englishman was thankful in a way that the stranger had decided to dress himself so fancily. It made him stand out juuust enough that he was getting the odd look from everyone. It made watching him a lot easier since well... everyone had at least the occasional glance to offer his way. The Englishman could hide his own gaze among that of the assembled attendants.
Only, then something happened. It was small, but significant. The suited man called the barman his way - and he most certainly didn't seem to be asking for a drink. Perhaps he was jumping to conclusions but... something suspicious was going on here. And if things were going to go down, he needed to be ready.

Excusing himself for a moment, the young man made his way to the toilets, decidedly taking the duffel bag from his seat along with him. A small part of Sion worried for a moment that perhaps one of the patrons would notice this slight oddity - but then again, he'd been at the bar by himself. It was easy to justify taking his bag with him as 'not wanting to leave it unattended'.
What he HADN'T accounted for was how small the cubicles were. Stepping into one for the right amount of privacy, he soon found himself really lacking the room to get changed. Hopping between his feet, he clumsily began to remove his boots. Standing in a public restroom without shoes, he soon began to regret the decision.
Still, there were more important matters on hand! ...Potentially! ...Well it was better to be safe than sorry.
Hopping between feet once more, next came off the trousers - unveiling a pair of tights between emblazoned with flaming designs. In some respects they were kinda cheesey - but he thought they were cool.

Unfortunately, before he could really get any further, there was the abrupt sound of shouting from the bar area. It sounded like there was some sort of commotion.
...Well shit. He'd been right. And he still wasn't ready.
Realising getting any more changed at this point would just be wasting time, he abandoned both his trousers and duffel bag to the fate of the bathroom stall as he whipped out the one thing he did need. The medallion...
Looking into it's jewelled centre for a moment he became entranced. The power was in his hands again. Calling on him. Waiting to be used.
Without waiting a moment longer... he put it on.

A second later, and out of the bathroom door burst an imposing draconic being! Standing at just over six feet in height, and built like a tank, the being who was a few moments ago known by the name of Sion O'Spiorad was now the heroic entity known as 'Dregan'!
...Okay, 'known' maybe not so much, he was still relatively new to this. But boy did he look the part!
Adorned in thick scales of deep green, accented with pointed horns and sharpened claws, enlarged in presence by a significant wingspan, he seemed to have everything he'd need for a confrontation already built-in to his toughened form. Dressed in those striking tights and that... torn... tattered... t-shirt? Okay, so he'd not had time to take that off before transforming, and the garment seemingly hadn't really survived the transition. Still, that didn't matter! Stepping through back into that bar, he looked and FELT like a badass, and he was SURE he demanded some authority right now!

And with a point of his finger in the direction of the man in the doorway, he decided to put that authority to the test;
"Stop right there!"

The Swagman turned around at the menacing voice, then immediately cussed.

"You're kidding me? Dragons?"

The Swagman turned to look at the two men he had tossed outside. They were a bit groggy from the headlocks still, so he would have a bit of time until they were well enough to run. While Johnny never fought any ACTUAL mythological creatures before, he had his fair share of freaks that he killed. He quickly popped open two buttons of his sleeve and pulled out a pistol that was previously strapped tightly to his arm. It was a light machine pistol that was used by Swagman mainly to fight off groups of people or a moving target. The best way to crack this Whatever's skin would most likely be to send a barrage of bullets into 'im. The last time Swagman had a Freak with tough skin, multiple bullets did it.

But then again, that was tough skin, not friggin' scales.

He aimed it at the Big Guy, and made a threat. He didn't quite shoot yet, but would if he was provoked anymore.

"This is just business, yuh Freak. Just step away and I'll throw some change your way. If you come an inch closer, it'll be the last inch you take, do you hear me?"

Swagman was absolutely ready to pull the trigger. If he needed to, the spray of bullets would be targeted at his current chest area. He had a better chance of hitting there, and since he wasn't using his trusted Smith & Wesson, he had to hit as many times as possible.

"Woah, woah, woah! Okay buddy, chill!" Okay, Dregan hadn't prepared for this. Admittedly... he should have. And this was totally his bad, he'd own up to that.
Still, he'd never really had a gun pointed at him before. Part of him knew in the back of his mind that it would be an eventual probability but... well, he imagined it would more likely've come as he swooped in to surprise someone? He had the image of dropping from rooftops and kicking the pistol from some shocked bankrobber's hand just as they turned to look at him. Real action hero stuff!
Now, as he slowly raised his hands in the air, he could actively feel the imposing nature of his presence wearing off. It was true that many of the patrons of the bar WERE giving him odd looks but... Not exactly the ones intended. More than anything everyone just seemed a little confused.
He really hoped none of them were journalists... 'New Superhero Fails To Impress' was not the headline he wanted to be running tomorrow. Then again 'New Superhero Gets Shot To Death' was probably a less desirable option...

Now with his hands up in the universal sign for 'I surrender', it had become clear that his options were limited. Brawn most certainly wasn't the path forward - he was pretty certain if he tried to rush the guy right now that wouldn't help anyone. It especially wouldn't help Dregan in his continuing quest of Trying Not To Get Shot.
Therefore, it seemed a different angle was neccesary - a more cognitive approach. He needed to outthink his foe, use whatever deceptive tactics he could bring to the table.
Now Sion O'Spiorad had always been a thespian. Indeed, he'd come to LA with the dream of making it big, and whilst recently the most he'd achieved was amateur dramatics, he'd certainly at least been getting his practise in. If he truly wanted to trick this gunman-with-an-agenda... he'd have to take those talents off the stage and put them to use!

"Now look, calm down! I'm not armed!" He wiggled his fingers a little to showcase the point - yeah, they definitely weren't holding onto anything there. Though... a very VERY observant eye would perhaps notice the tiiiniest of orange glows 'neath the scales of his fingers. It was a subtle light, and one seemingly of perhaps not much note. Maybe just the way the bar lights caught the dragon's unusual texture?

In truth however, the small movement had served more purpose than a demonstration of helplessness. As his fingers moved, small cinders released into the air. Tiny near-invisible embers of flame - scattered around by that momentary gesture. He wouldn't need many - he'd just needed to get them out without getting shot.
Now it was just a test of his inexperience against a situation where lives were very much mixed. He needed to focus his powers, control them so minutely as to go unseen. Precision was key... all whilst hoping his assailant didn't notice a thing.

He kept the gun up. He wasn't planning on lowering it, though he eased up a bit. He stared down the dragon. The way his scales glowed a sickening, unnatural orange made him want to kill this freak immediately. He could cleanse the world of another stupid Metahuman, and everyone would be better off for it. However, this particular freak was complying, and this wasn't familiar territory. Had this been New York or Chicago, he would call in the Clean-Up Crew and leave a giant hole in the monster's chest. This wasn't the Windy City or Manhattan, though, so things had to be a bit more 'tame'. He kept the gun up, and carefully unbuttoned his sleeve and unstrapped the second pistol. Now, he pointed it at the drunken man he was supposed to kill. Now came his dilemma.

He can't look both ways at once.

The part of him that wanted to remain safe insisted to stare down this freak until he backed away more, or even left. However he had a job to do, and that meant killing the poor accountant who was causing problems. If he couldn't focus on them both at the same time, the beast would try to be a hero or the Problem would run away. He had to pick. He had to pick now.

Always put the family above yourself.

At this moment, his eyes darted to look at the doorway. While keeping one glock aimed at the beast, his focus was on his other hand, which was trying to shoot at the accountant.  He was vulnerable, and he knew that. He was trained to shoot under pressure, however if he was disrupted by a strong enough force, his shot would go either flying into the air or down to the grounds of the alley below. In this situation, he would also try to shoot if he could find the chance to. Nothing calculated yet, he's got no time to think. Rather, he would spray an entire set of rounds from the light autopistol. Surely they would hurt the dragon, but realistically they wouldn't stop him by any means. No, to do that, he needed something bigger.

Right now? His focus is on killing the accountant. If he doesn't get caught up in a mess, the unfortunate soul is as good as dead. If anything happens, after creating distance in some way, the Swagman would try getting a few shots in to the legs of his target so that he couldn't move.

Thread incomplete. Dregan gets 0 XP due to killing thread. XP goes to Duo for their posts involved.