Post by Deleted on Sept 1, 2011 15:16:11 GMT
The back of the police cruiser was thrown open and three strong men in blue uniforms reached in to pull out a struggling and roaring Kane. His face was covered in blood and his nose looked broken, his own military uniform was ripped and torn and his words where completely void of all things pleasant and stank of rum. The police half dragged half carried him into the station and down to the holding cells, where they threw him in and slammed closed the door without taking the cuffs off him. Kane thrashed about on the floor for a while before laying still and catching his breath. He struggled to his feet, trying to pull his hands free of the cuffs that had his arms locked behind him. The steal cut into his wrists and he stopped trying before he cut too deep and started pacing around, shouting out curses on the French.
***Three hours before***
The door swung back as Kane pushed his way into the pub, everyone looked up at him as he entered, he was a sorry sight, his uniform was ripped and torn and he had a line of blood drooling from what looked like a broken nose. Kane met everyone’s gaze with a large grin and a friendly wave before marching up to the bar and ordering a beer and two shots of rum. When the barkeep had poured the drinks he leaned over and asked in a low voice. “What happened? You look like you’ve taken a beating.”
Kane just smiled and shot down the first rum, chugged his beer down to the dregs and polished off the other shot straight after. He pulled out a small roll of cash and payed for the round and a second round before speaking.
“Gotta love you Frenchmen.” Kane said as he waved the money about. “A whole lot of talk but when it comes to the fight, even two of you can’t beat an Englishman.” Kane smiled and repeated his drinking process, shot, chug, shot. The French barmen shook his head; obviously he was use to this type of talk. Kane coughed over his last shot and ordered another round, he planned to drink up his winnings.
But the barmen didn’t quite get it. “So how’d you come by that amount of money?”
Kane gave him a dirty look; he could hear the tone of the barman’s voice and knew the man thought he stole it.
“I won this, from a pair of stinking Frenchmen who thought they where tough stuff and challenged me to a bare knuckle boxing match.” Kane closed his fist and shoved his bloody knuckles under the barman’s nose.
“Guess they lost huh?” the barman said before backing away and serving another customer. Kane picked up his drinks and stumbled over to a table in the corner, the people sitting there already saw him coming and thought better of arguing over who was going to sit at that table and moved off to another one. Kane dropped into a chair rolled his head back; the grog was kicking in quickly and began numbing his injuries. He had been hurt a lot worse then he showed, the two Frenchmen had been bigger and stronger then him and Kane had used his speed to beat them, but he had taken more then a few hits for his trouble. One of his ribs felt cracked and his left ear was still ringing from the punch he’d received just before putting the last bloke down.
(OOC: I know its short but I'm out of time)
***Three hours before***
The door swung back as Kane pushed his way into the pub, everyone looked up at him as he entered, he was a sorry sight, his uniform was ripped and torn and he had a line of blood drooling from what looked like a broken nose. Kane met everyone’s gaze with a large grin and a friendly wave before marching up to the bar and ordering a beer and two shots of rum. When the barkeep had poured the drinks he leaned over and asked in a low voice. “What happened? You look like you’ve taken a beating.”
Kane just smiled and shot down the first rum, chugged his beer down to the dregs and polished off the other shot straight after. He pulled out a small roll of cash and payed for the round and a second round before speaking.
“Gotta love you Frenchmen.” Kane said as he waved the money about. “A whole lot of talk but when it comes to the fight, even two of you can’t beat an Englishman.” Kane smiled and repeated his drinking process, shot, chug, shot. The French barmen shook his head; obviously he was use to this type of talk. Kane coughed over his last shot and ordered another round, he planned to drink up his winnings.
But the barmen didn’t quite get it. “So how’d you come by that amount of money?”
Kane gave him a dirty look; he could hear the tone of the barman’s voice and knew the man thought he stole it.
“I won this, from a pair of stinking Frenchmen who thought they where tough stuff and challenged me to a bare knuckle boxing match.” Kane closed his fist and shoved his bloody knuckles under the barman’s nose.
“Guess they lost huh?” the barman said before backing away and serving another customer. Kane picked up his drinks and stumbled over to a table in the corner, the people sitting there already saw him coming and thought better of arguing over who was going to sit at that table and moved off to another one. Kane dropped into a chair rolled his head back; the grog was kicking in quickly and began numbing his injuries. He had been hurt a lot worse then he showed, the two Frenchmen had been bigger and stronger then him and Kane had used his speed to beat them, but he had taken more then a few hits for his trouble. One of his ribs felt cracked and his left ear was still ringing from the punch he’d received just before putting the last bloke down.
(OOC: I know its short but I'm out of time)