Irish you Luck

[Declan Moss]

Vagabond, derelict, these were the title's placed upon men like Declan Moss, and while many considered them to be derogatory labels, Declan wore it as a badge of honor. He had never really known a home, never held allegiance to king nor crown, and had not only survived, but flourished in a world whose very establishment was opposed to his way of life. Still, that wasn't to say he went through life feeling as if he were a stranger. In all the world there were only a handful of places that Declan truly felt at home, those places were known as taverns. Beer, liquor, loud music and wenches, these were the sinews that gave strength to young Declan limbs. So it was no wonder, that after a hard days work getting his ass beaten by the Black Knight, he found himself in the nearest tavern, drinking away every piece of coin in his pocket.

The Ram was as crowded as any he had seen, populated by men and women of all walks of life despite the late hour. Declan was already at the bottom of his fifth glass, and while he could certainly drink more, he was well under the pleasant effects of the alcohol. His cheeks were flushed, and unfortunately for him, his inhibitions were nonexistent. Which meant singing. Now, this usually went one of two way. Either his fellow patrons would accept his musical abilities in join in the revelry, allowing them all to transcend to a higher level of mutual understanding, or, Declan would get his teethed kicked in.

When I came home on Monday night, as drunk as drunk could be
I saw a horse outside the door, where my old horse should be
So I called my wife, (audience shouts: HEY WIFE!)
And I said to her, would you kindly tell to me
Who owns that horse outside my door, where my old horse should be?
Oh, you're drunk, you drunk, you silly old fool,
Can't you plainly see?
That's a lovely sow that my mother sent to me
Well it's many a day I've travelled, a hundred miles or more
But a saddle on a sow I've never seen before!

Surprisingly, most of the patrons looked on with genuine amusement as the Irish vagabond sang in a charming high tenor voice that ensured he was bought round after round. Unfortunately, this being his third song, and this being the first time he proceeded to dance, a rather fetching jig, upon the bar. Before the bartender had a moment to talk Declan down, one of the other patrons swept his legs out from under him, causing him to tumble on a group of ill tempered patrons. Who then proceeded to toss him into a table of knights. And like that, the brawl began. By the time Declan came to his senses the brawl was in full swing.

[Elizabeth Severn]

There are very few ways to end your day that are better then enjoying a good drink. And what better way to do that then going to one of the city's most disreputable taverns. The atmosphere was warm and full of ale, along with the company. Everyone was drunk and laughing, and most of all, there was not yet a bar fight raging from the patrons.

Leaning back on her seat, tankard held in one hand, Elizabeth let an lopsided grin hang off of her face, giving her a dashing look. Her long legs were propped up on the table in front of her, the silver buckles on her thigh-high boots glinting in the light. She had on a loose gray shirt and her leather corset, along with long bracers strapped to her forearms. Already, she was bout four or five drinks into the night, and she planned on enjoying herself even more as the time progressed.

Then a spanner went into the works. A young many, vaguely handsome and roguish, decided now would be a good time for a song and dance number. That wasn't a problem for Elizabeth, the problem was when another man, knocked the singer over. Now that just wouldn't do at all.

Downing the last of her drink, Elizabeth stood, her devilish grin still clinging to her lips. In one smooth movement, Elizabeth brought her arm around in a great arc, smashing her empty mug onto the back of the man's head. Possibly not the best move she'd mad tonight, but it was damn fun. As he crumpled to the floor, one of his buddies came toward here, apparently upset about her actions.

Grinning brightly, Elizabeth sidestepped as he tried to punch her, letting him hit the man behind he. Needless to say, that did not go over well, and soon another pocket of fighting broke out, along with the one the singer had started.

Glancing around, Elizabeth sp[otted the fallen man, and in a few steps she was over to him. Grabbing onto the front of his shirt, she hauled him upright, dodging a fly tankard on her way up. "Up ya' get, mate," she said brightly. "Now are you gonna stay and fight this one out or are you gonna do a runner?"

[Declan Moss]

The young thief was barely aware of his surroundings as two strong hands gripped around his shirts collar and lifted him onto his feet. He braced himself for another blow to the face, but, through squinted somewhat bleary eyes he saw something far more interesting then a bar brawl, a gorgeous women, and one in a skirt no less. His eyes fell across her body, and while in his mind he was sure he had been quite discrete, it was very likely that his would be rescuer might yet hit him. Of course, Declan likely wouldn't have even noticed. While he could drink just about anyone under the table, it didn't take much to get him drunk, and right now, after all the sudden movement he had been subjected to, his head was swimming. He grabbed onto the woman's shoulder to steady himself and was immediately aware of how muscular this lady happened to be. What? Is she a blacksmith or something? he wondered as he proceeded to give her shoulder one more tentative squeeze before his attention was directed elsewhere. A firm hand pulled Declan from the protective space behind his new muscular female friend. The semi intoxicated Declan look at this new person in much the same way as the girl before. Barrel chest, hairy face, large hands. Declan had lost interest right about the time one of the mans large unattractive hands smashed into his temple, knocking him backwards into a table.

"To drunk to run," he finally replied, though his words were barely comprehensible thanks to his slight accent, and the effects of the alcohol. It was true though, he could hardly stand, and even then, swayed slightly back and forth. The man attacked him again though this time Declan was prepared, or at least as prepared as he could be given his current condition. The mans wild right hook came in clumsily, allowing Declan to lean backwards (using the table for support) and dodge the strike before lunging forward. His training with the Black Brotherhood had expanded on his already competent fighting style. One of his favorite moves, was the one he implemented on the man attacking him. He pushed the attacking hand over his right shoulder, stepping in close and wrapping his right arm around the mans neck. It was one of the many choke holds he had learned. It trapped the opponents arm and neck between Declans arm and neck. The difference of course that while Declans arm, now held in place by his left hand, could squeeze to his hearts content, the opponent just acted like a bar being crushed against the opponents neck.

"Just drunk enough to fall over," he said with a grin as he slid his right leg betweens the mans legs, placing his heel behind the heel of his opponent before leaning forward. His bodyweight caused the man to stumble backwards, but with his foot trapped in place, he could do nothing more then fall to the floor. Once there, it was only a matter of moment before the man would fall unconscious.

[Elizabeth Severn]

Even if she had been paying attention, Elizabeth really wouldn't have cared about how the man was looking at her. She got that, quiet often really. It wasn't a big deal to her at all. But, that wasn't really relevant, because she was focused more on a group just behind him. One of the drunken fighter had pulled out a knife, and now things were about to get ugly. Elizabeth did have the two long hunting knives strapped to the back of her belt, but she really preferred not to use them.

Before she could worry about that, her new found intoxicated friend was dragged away by a brute of a man. On the verge of intervening, she paused when it became obvious that this man could handle himself. In a couple of heartbeats he had the larger fighter down and out. Marginally impressed, Elizabeth took the opportunity to look round for someone else to punch. Her chance came soon enough as the man with the knives came out of his group and started toward her friend's exposed back.

Spinning on her heel, Elizabeth brought her foot up in a devastating roundhouse, catching the would be assailant on the side of the jaw. She had managed to kick right over the two men on the floor, stopping their attacker dead in his tracks. As he staggered back wards, Elizabeth jumped over the two on the floor and tackled the staggering man, bowling him to the floor. With a wild laugh, she gave him one good punch, sending him out of the fight.

Half rising into a crouch, Elizabeth turned to see how the other guy was doing.

[Declan Moss]

It was a lovely feeling another human being in your arms. Granted, this hairy beer soaked brute of man Declan was currently strangling wasn't the type of companion he would have hoped for, but at least that sweet feeling of his opponent going limp as he lost consciousness was mildly gratifying. A wild laugh broke out from Declans lips as he rolled off his opponent and onto the wooden floor. What he saw left him speechless. A perfect roundhouse caught an armed assailant in the mouth, but more importantly, was the fact that the girl doing it was in tight black pants, and from his position on the floor, Declan couldn't stop the roguish drunken grin from spreading across his features. This was turning out ot be his kind of bar fight.

Unfortunately this momentary distraction had to come to an end as Declan glanced away from the girl, to see a small, waif of a man charging in their direction. He wasn't armed, but Declan still felt the need to put him down. The thought to get up crossed his mind momentarily before he lost interest. His head was spinning to much to stand up, so he did the next best thing. Declan's foot lashed out striking the chair in front of him, which in turn tumbled in the path of the skinny man, who consequently fell face first into Declan's lap. The thief may have been to tired to stand, but he wasn't to tired to lash out at the small man with all of his drunken fury. He grabbed the mans shirt collar and hauled him up so that they were face to face before rolling over, so that Declan was on top, and the small man was out of luck. The thief yanked up on the mans shirt while his right fist raced towards his opponents nose. The combined momentum was enough to ruin the mans face, and rip off a large portion of his collar. The man was in no condition to fight, but Declan didn't stop until the third or fourth impact. His knuckles were covered in blood, but he didn't notice.

He wiped his nose with his bloody hand as he struggled to regain his footing, a feat made all the more difficult by a half drunk immigrant. It was a girl, and while not particularly attractive, was built solidly enough to hit with such force so as to knock him not only to the floor but several feet backwards, into Elizabeth Severn. The tumbled down with the red headed girl straddling him, a position not at all desirable considering the heavy strikes she was sending against his skull. He ate two before he even realized what was happening. The Black Brotherhood hadn't trained him for this. Well, they had trained him for it, just not trained him to hit a girl. Call him a chauvinist, but he had no intention of hitting a girl.

"Hey, HEY!," he shouted as he finally grabbed hold of her arms and pinning them to her sides. "Knock it off woman!" he cried frantically, trying to get, what he assumed to be a mentally ill female, to regain control of her faculties. It was a noble endeavor, and when she got a hand free, she smacked him in the mouth for it. Declan answered in kind, cracking her hard in the side of the head. It was a one hit knock out, and she toppled backwards, still on top of him, but with her soon to be bruised face on the floor.

"Oh," exclaimed Declan as he ran a hand through his hair, "I shouldn't have done that, oh, ah damn it." He lamented. This night had just ceased to be harmless fun.

[Elizabeth Severn]

There were very few places that a person could learn to fight like this. You couldn't do it in a shield wall or a battlefield, and no army would get you ready to face this type of mass hysteria. The only way to learn was from practice. If nothing else, you had to have some experience. Elizabeth had years and years of that behind her now. And thankfully, that wasn't the only thing she had.

Making sure that her friend wasn't getting himself killed, Elizabeth turned her attention back to the rest of the fighters. And not a moment to soon, because another problem had appeared. A large man, he looked like a blacksmith type, had spotted her and decided on an easy target. Today was his day to be very wrong.

Waiting for the last possible moment, Elizabeth stayed poised until she had to move. Grabbing onto a discarded chair next to her, she whipped it around in between her and the charging man, setting the legs of the chair as her defense. She felt the impact all the was through her arms. The force took her backward, bumping her into a smaller, ratlike man.

Turning to face her, the rat man took a knife from inside his jerkin, brandishing it at Elizabeth. Disentangling herself from the remains of the chair, she took the only course of action she could think off. As fast as she could, her hands darted out, grabbing the man by two handfuls of his greasy hair. Her knee came up at the same time as her hands came down, and the man's face was there to take the impact. The crack was unbelievably loud, and he just went limp after it was heard.

Hurriedly letting go of his hair, Elizabeth was about to turn when she was bowled off her feet. Landing heavily on her back, she saw her drunken friend being assaulted by some crazy redhead. As he knocked her out, Elizabeth let out a wild yell and rolled back onto her feet. She was enjoying this far to much. Grabbing her friend and pulling him to his feet for the second time the night, she slapped him across the face. "Don't fell sorry," she snapped, she shining eyes betraying how much fun she was having. "She hit you, you hit back, that's how it works. Now, I think we should be leaveing..." The very audible screams and sound of splintering wood was erupting all around them, and things were threatening to get out of hand very quickly.

[Declan Moss]

A strong slap connected with his cheek distracting him from his lamentations, and allowing him to instead focus on more important things, like cracking the skull of whoever had just hit him. He balled his fist before locking eyes with the person who it was he was going to lash out against. It took him a moment to recognize the eyes of his would be good Samaritan gazing back at him, effectively stopping his punch in mid swing. Her words fell on deaf ears as he recognized the fire in her eyes. She was enjoying this, enjoying far to much for her to be anything less then a warrior. It was simultaneously terrifying, and exhilarating as the excitement she was so readily displaying became contagious. In that moment he felt invincible, and the in the next moment, he felt the impact of a tankard of ale as it collided with the back of his head, the conclusion of its whirlwind trip originating from an unknown area of the tavern. It was in that moment that the inebriated Declan came to a conclusion, well two conclusions to be more accurate. The first, was that tankards were far more painful then he would have ever imagined, and the second, was that he was most certainly not invincible. When his new friend suggested they flee the scene of this brawl, he readily agreed.

"Couldn't agree more," he stammered as he clasped a hand to the newly forming knot on his skull. Unfortunately the door was blocked by a large group of battling patrons, effectively cutting off their escape. Most people would have tried to fight their way past the throng of warring individuals, or tried to find a safe place to hide. Declan, took the sturdiest looking chair he could find, and, taking s moment to judge how aerodynamic the wooden construct was, hurled it through the glass window several feet to the right of the entrance. Problem solved.

"Cowards first," he stated cheerfully, as he hurried out the window before the woman could react. Generally speaking, Declan would have preferred to watch his attractive new friend step through window, but after being tackled, hit, and bludgeoned the Irish native was in no mood to wait around. In fact, he wanted nothing more then to find a place to spend the night and sleep off his hangover. It was rather lucky, he mused as he stepped out into the chill night air of Camelot, to find a window out to the street completely devoid of rowdy occupants. So lucky to find a convenient path to freedom. The thought alone would have been enough to bring his steps to a standstill, but the City Guard who were forming outside the bar certainly helped. The luck of the Irish, just so happened to always be bad.