CoR Klaxon: Taking up the Gauntlet

Marcellus had arrived early at the Rusty Nail to clean up from the night prior. He could have left it until later, but he was restless and in need of something to do that kept him moving. He found himself in a precarious state, teetering somewhere between a state of melancholy and a spark of.... a spark of something he couldn't quite place. It almost felt like anticipation, but he couldn't quite identify the feelings that made it up. Was he uneasy? Or was that excitement? Had he tread the depths of depression for so long that he couldn't remember what these feelings where?

Cleaning up the bar area from the thrashing Ragenard had given Grisham gave him something to put his mind on. Ragenard had shown restraint and the damages where minimal enough. He would have Grisham call about getting the bar top later. The crack ran deep, and it would need replacing.

He sighed as he swept up some broken bits of glass. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with Grisham. He didn't know what he was thinking keeping the man on to be truthful. But hell if Grisham wasn't the first person to give a fuck about this dump in a long time. That had to be worth something, right?

He bent down to retrieve the dustpan full of glass from the floor, and fortune would save him. The sound of glass shattered moments before an explosion shook the building. Marcellus ended up on the ground amid a pile of broken liquor bottles, and smoke choked the air.

He held one arm over his face as he reached for the shotgun he kept beneath the counter. His ears where ringing, but the counter had taken the brunt of the blast.

----

Outside of the Rusty Nail, the Iron Jackals had taken up the gauntlet that Ragenard had thrown down. A small squad of six men had gathered across the street. A tall man with oily black hair that hung in a stringy mess stood at their head. The scorpion tattoo that dominated half off his face made him an easy man to identify. His name was Mael and the sneer upon his face spoke of his disdain at being sent on a glorified vandalism run, while other more prominent enforcers where moving on the Bloodstone pack directly.

It was a look the man often wore. A look that said he was never content with his lot in life, and held nothing but contempt for others. He dare not challenge Regis or Lance on the matter though. And so he would do as instructed, and then move on to join the others that would be hitting the business center of Lupaix.

The improvised explosive had wrecked much of the interior, but he wanted to make a statement as well.

"Shoot it up," he told the men with him.

Before they could open fire on the building though, a shotgun blast went off and one of the men crumpled to the ground. The rest immediately took cover behind a parked car.

A grin split across Mael's face at the realization that someone was inside. This might prove fun after all.

Another shot gun blast struck the side of the vehicle, causing one of his men to duck his head from where he had been peering over the head of the vehicle.

"I didn't see where the shot came from," he told Mael.

"Alright, you two stay here and keep their attention on the front of the building. The rest of you, we're going around the back," he told them.

The two men stood and opened fire on the building and Mael and the others used the cover to make a run for the side of the building.

----

Marcellus had gotten a lucky shot off while the group of Iron Jackals had stood recklessly in plain view. They had anticipated the building being empty no doubt. Him being here was a deviation from the norm. He got a second shot off before return fire forced him back down behind the bar. He had been in his share of shootouts to know what they where doing.

He pulled his phone out and put it on speaker so he could keep his hands on his shotgun.

Grisham's voice came from the phone sounding less than thrilled at the early AM call after last nights beatdown. "What the fuck do you want."

Marcellus fired off another shotgun blast towards the men at the car.

"Get your ass over to the Rusty Nail," Marcellus answered bluntly.

It was the only instruction provided under the sound of gunfire before the phone cut out.

With that seen too, Marcellus kept low and made a run for the storage room nearby. He had only a few minutes before he was pinned down from two sides and he needed to buy time.

In the back of his mind he couldn't quite deny the thrill that urged him into motion.

The disgustingly loud, shrill noise that woke Grisham couldn't be the tone he had assigned Marcellus, in case he called. It couldn't be, because when he squinted at his phone screen to check the time, his vision still spinning, it said it was EARLY AS FUCK. It had barely been hours, plural, since he got back and he was certain he was still drunk.

"What the fuck do you want." He growled after the second attempt at swiping to answer the call. The sound he heard next made him instantly sit up from where he was half curled up, half wrung out. Bottles clinked, he must have fallen asleep while drinking or finished lapping the last few dregs from the bottle while nearly unconscious. Or maybe he was sleep drinking now. It wouldn't surprise him. It'd be nice to not wake up sober or halfway there. He still wasn't, but he felt himself become considerably more aware of the world as Marcellus answered his lovely not rude greeting;

"Get your ass over to the Rusty Nail" Over the phone, while guns were fired in the background. At least one of them had been a shotgun, the first one he'd heard. The closest too. Grisham half-stood, leaning against the side of the van for support.
Marc's words from the night before (Literally hours ago actually, fuck everything. Fuck the fucking world he was SO TIRED) burrowed their way to the front of his mind, in between the pounding in his head and his still not settled vision. He ripped open a plastic bag of white bread and barely chewed the three spongy slices he shoved down his throat. Then he moved to the back to swing one of the doors open and, without leaving the vehicle, took a time-efficient piss while he thought about what to do next. The light from the outside, which wasn't much, blinded him enough that he didn't have to worry about who may be outside trying to enjoy a nice weekend of camping. At least he could see enough that he knew the stream wasn't hitting anybody.

"There will be more trouble from the Jackals after this, and it won't be in the form of graffiti and vandalism." He hadn't expected them to go from clogging pipes to attempted, because it better be attempted, murder. Much less so FAST. Could've given them at least 3 to 5 business days, but that was probably too much to ask. If they wanted a fight though?, they'd have it. Grisham had nothing else to fucking live for, it might be unhealthy but he had already become attached to that bar. Marc came with the bar, so he was included whether he liked it or not.

After quickly washing and disinfecting his hands, the werewolf geared up. He was already wearing cargos so he had pockets to spare for ammo. He kind of stank of sweat and alcohol, speaking of which... he was out, completely. Fuck- But he had to get to Marc. So he put his M9 Beretta on his hip, KA-BAR knife in his right boot, where it fit perfectly, and threw his M16 rifle onto the front seat. The world had stopped spinning, he closed the door making the whole van rattle and crawled onto the driver's seat. Now... he eyed the campings' exit. He could lose time going through the process that was leaving, and then having to drive up to the nearest roundabout down the road to make the turn that would take him to Marc. Or... fuck it. He could change license plates or find another camping. Maybe even pay for the damages. He took a deep breath, stepped on the pedal and drove straight through a brittle, rustic fence. "Come on..." He growled, accelerating as much as he could get away with. Even like this, he was a decent driver. He had done enough DUI to go to jail for a lifetime, his long ass lifetime. The streets were surprisingly empty.

When he arrived to a street closest to the back of the Rusty Nail, he parked behind the corner. He grabbed his rifle and got out, turned off the van and hid behind a parked car to assess the situation and if possible, take aim. Or he'd advance if he didn't see people. Was he too late?.

Marcellus kept low and moved quickly for the storage room. He was outnumbered and outflanked. He assessed the situation quickly and reacted with the calm determination. As he gained the storage room he heard the splintering of the door latch at the back of the building. They where inside.

He shed his shirt, followed by a hand carved wooden pendant of a bear that he always wore beneath. He looked at it only a moment before setting it atop a nearby shelf.

How many years had it been?

---

Grisham arrived to see one man dead in the street, blood pooling beneath him from a shotgun blast to the chest. There was no sign of the others, and for a brief few moments, all was silent.

The silence lingered only just long enough to feed Grisham's concerns that he had arrived too late before a deafening roar errupted from within the building at the same time as gunshots rang out. There was indistinct shouting from within the building, and a blood curdling scream cut short. A moment later, a massive bear plowed through the already broken window, splintering it right out of its frame and taking a good portion of the wall with it. The mangled remains of a man where splayed lifeless amongst the broken bits of wood splinters and glass as the bear shook itself. Its dark brown fur was matted in spots as if wet.

Grisham likely hadn't known what to expect upon his arrival, but a massive bear was probably not among his thoughts.

He wasn't sure what surprised him more when he recovered from the sight that was a bear bursting through the side of a building. That that, specifically, happened… or that Marcellus had interesting friends. Who were hurt. The human victim had the Iron Jackals gaudy uniform shit going on, so Grisham knew he was team bear (hah).

"I'm here to help, take a break if you need it, or cover." He said to the bear in a whisper, walking close to the wall. The opening would give him a chance to shoot at those inside. Rifle in hand, more awake than he had been in months, he dared peer into the building in a horizontal swiping motion and aiming with his rifle, fast. Any shots that lined up he'd take, and then retreat behind the wall. He also hoped to see Marcellus, whose scent was present... but he hadn't seen him yet, and he was growing more worried with every second that passed. Maybe he was somewhere safe? the bear might be able to clear it up, later, once they dealt with their pest problem.

The men inside where caught off guard by Grisham's arrival, and his first shots felled one of them instantly. For a moment, the open gunfire fell silent. Those within the building had no doubt taken cover and where assessing the situation. They had not been anticipating this level of push back on a glorified vandalism run.

Marcellus swung his head to the side to get a look at Grisham's position. He huffed almost approvingly. Grisham had made it on scene with impressive timing, and had evaluated the scene quickly. He could see why Ragenard was interested in him. Shame too. It was doubtful that Marcellus would be able to keep him out of the pack's affairs after tonight.

He turned his attention back towards the building. With one massive clawed paw he grabbed the mangled remains of the Iron Jackal at his feet. With a heave, he sent the body hurtling back through the window to crash into the bar top inside. He followed up the gesture by standing up on his rear legs and letting out a deafening roar.

----

Inside the Rusty Nail things had taken a turn for the worse. Mael was swearing profusely under his breath. The younger of the two remaining men that were crouched next to him was close to breaking. Pinned down by the rifleman and a bear - a fucking bear - was proving too much. He scrambled backwards and landed on his ass as the flung corpse struck the bar counter. Staring into that mangled face proved too much. He turned and ran for the back. One of Grisham's shots dropped him almost instantly.

Mael was livid. There was no turning this around at this point.

"Cover fire only, we'll go out the back," he told them.

The one remaining man was more than eager for the order to pull out. They focused their shots on Grisham's location to try and force him into cover as they stood and rapidly backed up towards the rear of the building. The bear had been an unexpected and shocking display of ferocity, but its large size hindered it within the confines of the building, and it seemed content to remain outside where it was.

They were going to get away at this rate, and Grisham wanted to know what the FUCK these bathroom wrecking shits were up to exactly and why they had to hit bars at ass o'clock in the morning. He let them shoot, counting, listening for their steps while hanging his rifle behind his back. That confirmed that they were trying to leave. He crouched quietly and grabbed a piece of debris from the broken wall while grabbing his gun from its holster, he knew it was loaded.

"Hang back or go wait for them on the other side." He told him, fast. "We can flank them." But the best was hurt, so he didn't expect him to risk it.

So he threw in the rock-sized projectile, because he hadn't seen Marc yet either even though his scent was stronger. And he needed to know where he was, from his crouched position he rushed in, gun in hand. He aimed for their hands and legs now, not their heads, while he moved to bait their shots and advance if they tried to keep up with his movement speed. He'd unload as many bullets as he needed to, to at least get one to fall behind. His intention was to kill one and keep the other for a bit, but that might be wishful thinking. It smelled a lot like Marc and the bear in here. Of alcohol, all types, spilled, wasted. Blood, guts from the flying body that may have made someone with a weaker stomach vomit even though it was still... Very, very gruesome.

The bear gave a snort and there was something almost familiar in the borderline derisiveness of the expression. It made no move to follow, or to circle around the building. It instead shook itself off, bits of broken glass tinkling against the pavement as they fell free from the beasts fur.

There was a spray of return fire as Grisham moved into view, but it was poorly aimed with the intent to force him back into cover for the pair to retreat out the back. They underestimated Grisham's tenacity though, and his more well aimed shots struck the one shooting at him. His gun clattered to the floor as he grabbed a bloody hand - minus two fingers. He tried to turn and run, but another bullet caught him in the thigh and he went down.

Meanwhile Mael did not seem to have any qualms about abandoning his wounded fellow. He was out the back door without a look back.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!" the man on the ground was shouting.

He tried to crawl after Mael, leaving streaks of blood on the floor.

Meanwhile out front of the building, Marcellus was shedding his bestial form. The Jackals were retreating, and he would have time to prepare before he needed to worry about further retaliation. That was sufficient enough for him.

The crawler would not make it far as Grisham stepped on him while reloading his gun, uncaring about how much he may be hurting. Should've thought about it twice before coming to fuck around.

The mix of scents started making a lot more sense after he heard the bear snort and looked back at him. So Marc was alright, thank fucking god. Considering he could have become a sponge for bullets… Grisham found himself feeling a huge relief. Even if the bar was going to need a shit ton of remodeling to get even close to what it used to be. Not to mention the amount of broken bottles... did Marcellus have the funds for it?. Grisham had some savings, he could pitch in, maybe. He turned to face his little catch.

He went from having a foot on him to kneeling on him so he could press the gun to the back of the man's head, growling low and deep.

"Fuck indeed, kid, you have some shit friends. But I might let you go if you tell me what the fuck is going on. I know who you lot are, so tell me how big this stunt expands, where the fuck else you're causing havoc if you are and anything else you think could help disuade me from putting six bullets in your Shit Jackal head."

"Hey man, they don't tell me anything," the man on the ground exclaimed. His face was twisted up in pain. "We was just supposed to fuck the place up. Teach him a lesson! That's all I know! We didn't know anyone was going to be here!"

Marcellus stepped inside, through the broken window that he had plowed through earlier. He looked at the state of the place with a deep scowl. There was broken furniture, shattered glass and bullet holes everywhere. Marcellus' visible anger was more emotion than Grisham had seen the man display since they had met.

"Might as well put a bullet in his head now," Marc said as he headed into the storage room where he had left his things. "If he knew jack shit, the other would have shot him dead instead of leaving him for us to waste our time with."

There was a part of Grisham that felt pity for the man underneath him. It was drowned by an amount of things. His annoyance at having had to come to be shot at, even if he was fine. That his new workplace was trashed. That all of this alcohol was completely wasted. Couldn't even lick it off the floor without taking a mouthful of glass along. A bad idea at the best of times.

Marcellus would hear three shots. Just in case the man came back from a single head wound. Grisham made sure he was dead before he got up and reloaded. He went around to check whether the coast was clear before he put away his weapon and could relax. Just in case there was anyone else lingering by. Waiting to pounce or try any more shit.

When Marcellus emerged from the storage room he was pulling his shirt on over his head. The deep scars that adorned his torso spoke of a different time. Bullet wounds, claw wounds, cuts and more. The most ragged of them was the size of a softball, and looked to have been created by something ripped through his left side. It was encircled with mottled burn scars. He went to tuck the bear pendant he wore into the front of his the, but he instead left it where it hung.

"Most people wouldn't have responded to that call," Marcellus said as he knelt down to get a look at the dead man.

Definitely Iron Jackal, there was no mistaking that. This could only mean one thing. War had come to Vargeras.

"You did good," he added. "There's no staying out of this mess now. My phone is somewhere behind the counter. Toss me it would you?"

His phone was tossed over without much ceremony once Grisham hopped behind the counter and found it. It'd be kinda wet, but it worked. He also found an intact bottle of brandy that he immediately picked up and opened as well. Lucky find.

"Most people wouldn't have changed your pipes and cleaned your bathroom to get a job, boss, I thought we had established I ain't most people." Said the wolf as he took a few gulps from the bottle. Ghhhh fucking amazing, much much better. Now this was what he needed. He wouldn't pretend he didn't like praise though, and the corners of his mouth lifted a little when he hard he had done good. Always the attention seeking puppy in the end. At least drinking meant his mouth was busy. And so he couldn't comment on what a pity it was that Marcellus was covering up his hot, scarred body with a kind of ugly t-shirt. They looked like the kind of stories to ask about and be told about around a fire, passing around a bottle of something shitty but plentiful. He'd try to remember them, maybe figure out what they were from, try to guess, but... later.

Licking his lips once he pulled the bottle away, he sighed softly and ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm also gonna need a new place to live-park. Pretty sure I drove through the camping site fence to get 'ere on time."