The Blue Note

[Obelisk]

((Trying to catch some new members out there and to meet your characters. The limit for this RP will be two other people, besides myself. That's three total. Any more and the scenario would seem odd.))

The room was dark, the atmosphere cool and calm as the smooth, dulcet melody flowed languidly throughout the room. The band on stage wasn't really a band, simply a single saxophonist accompanied by a man strumming lazily on a cello. They were playing in a well liked but little-known jazz club called "The Blue Note." The tables that the guests sat at were round and small, able to sit three or less, no more without being awkward. White cloths dressed the tables, but they were stained blue by the lightning of the club. The over all feel, set by the look of the place and the music, was subdued and the club was only at half capacity. Most came as couples, young, hip lovers enjoying an easy night out. Some were alone, coming to simply enjoy the relaxed atmosphere and good music.

Among those who came alone was a man dressed in an immaculate ensemble of suit and tie. He looked like a gentlemen, handsome and easily approached, if it wasn't for the eye patch that covered his right eye. The black patch was the only thing that didn't seem to belong, or maybe it did, as it lent a certain mystique to the man, if such a thing was believable. That simple item would keep people guessing and make them wonder about how he had lost his eye. The man, as was his game now, would always smile mysteriously and fabricate a false story. No one needed to know the ridiculous truth.

He was proud, too proud, and his pride was easily damaged.

The man's name? Jericho Vãduva. He was unknown to some, but infamous with others. Son of a CEO at the head of a very successful research and development business, he was one of the social elite. Not only that, but Jericho had won himself the reputation as one of the fiercest defense attorneys around. A day of work in his life revolved around getting innocent or guilty (sometimes horrendously guilty) people off the hook, or at the very least, a decreased sentenced. Sufficed to say, it wasn't the most admirable work, and Jericho had gained more enemies than friends, but he'd expected as much. As long as he was top dog, he really didn't care either way.

Here, within The Blue Note, he didn't have to keep any false pretenses going. Here he could relax and ignore the outside world and his job, if only for a night. The case he was involved with now was heavy, very heavy and involved. At his best, Jericho could pretend to be put together and organized and calm. At his worst, he was a mess of nerves and stress. That night, he was somewhere in the middle. Drinking helped, it always did, and the more he drank, the more his nerves settled.

A recent run in with is impossible to please father had drudged up insecurities and worries that the man had thought he'd dealt with. Now, in the light of his new relationship, Jericho felt even more under pressure. He was a grown male of thirty-two years of age, but he was still capable of being nothing more than a lost and frustrated boy, trying too hard to fill his father's shoes.

He brought his glass cup to his lips and sipped down the deceptively sweet drink. The table he sat at was empty besides himself and the chairs beside him remained vacant. If someone was to sit down, the man wouldn't be surprised. The club was a relaxed setting and many social inhibitions tended to fade away once you stepped inside.

[veil]

The lazy strums of the cello were hypnotising to the youth who walked into the club, he came here every so often, once he had played clarinet for his friend as he did a blues routine. Today he came to relax. He couldn't relax too much, however, or else he just might slip into his other form; though the damage he could do as a weasel was limited, the damage that could be caused by the shock of seeing him change was immense. Only the owner, Bartender, and the redheaded waitress who planned on getting up on that stage one of these days knew about the secert.
Not paying much attention to any of the others he sat at his ussual spot, one of the farther back tables, in the only chair in the shadows. He had already signaled the red-head, appropriatly named rose, when he saw the Man that had been sitting there for some time. Unused to running into people in here, he always sat here as it was a table often avoided due to it being number 13, he turned to the man and spoke,
"Hi-err hello sir, it's not often I meet people round here; you know they say that there's a curse on table thirteen."

[Obelisk]

Jericho, to say the least, was surprised when someone sat in the seat next to his. It wasn't often that he was approached in the club, though it by no means was anything new. The older male's green eye-- almost feral looking, bright, intelligent-- moved to wander over his guest's features. Once he was sure he hadn't seen or met the man before, Jericho's blank face lit with a charming and disarming smile. It was a habit, a learned action rather than a true, meaningful gesture, his smile. It was only polite, and Jericho had had enough etiquette and charm classes as a youth for it to have been ingrained.

"I'm not a superstitious man," Jericho replied easily, his voice smooth and amiable, though that may have been because of the alcohol he was ingesting. He brought his glass to his lips, licking them before taking another sip, setting the drink aside. The lawyer's one-eyed gaze was back on the other male.

" And who might you be?" He questioned, giving a polite smile, speaking lowly as to not disturb the other club goers. Talking. Talking was nice. It was easier not to think about stressful things when he was talking, when he was pretending to care.

[veil]

"I'm not a superstitious man,"
'That might change before the night's over if the music get's any better' Veil thought as he ordered a Bermudian cocktail from rose.
" And who might you be?" The guy was actually talking to him, this was again new, he felt the Saxaphone's spine tingiling wail as it echoed over the cellos low strumming,
"I'm Veil, Veil Threat." Then a Clairinet joined the duo bringing a background tune to the mix. Oh god, he was going to have a roughe time not changing tonight, his drink came promptly, rose strained it in front of hime to show him it was still cold, it was his one pickyness about the Bermudian cocktail, it HAD to be cold,
"And who is it that I get the pleasure of meeting this evening?" He tried to hide his headache from the strain, but wasn't sure how well he was doing.

[Obelisk]

"Veil Threat?" Jericho repeated, tone lazy and languid as he tested the name. " That's an odd name." The man had commented with a smile, meaning no offense. "Veil Threat. Veiled Threat? You don't look threatening at all." A quirk of the lips and Jericho was sipping at his drink again, that green eye of his lingering on Veil's face. The sweet sound of the music and the alcohol he was ingesting loosened the usually uptight man, making him more readily able to chat.

" You have the pleasure of meeting me, " Jericho said, grinning brightly. " The pleasure of meeting Jericho. Jericho Vãduva." He spoke as if his name was of some importance, and in the right circles it was. People knew him because of his father, because of his profession. There weren't many other one-eyed top-notch lawyers running around the city.

"Well, Mr.Threat. Do you come here often? I can't say I've seen you before." The lawyer said, brows furrowing just slightly when he felt something was amiss. "Are you alright?" He questioned off handedly, watching the other with an intelligent, if drunk gaze.

[Rip]

Fritz lost four patients this morning. One flatlined within a minute of coming into the ER, complete shut off. Skull fracture, car accident. The second crashed in the OR. Open heart surgery, obese. The third was brought in just two minutes too late, face white as fish flesh. Overdose, sleeping pills. It was the forth that killed him. Little five year old kid. Compound fracture of the right arm, highly allergic to some painkillers. No one knew.

No one knew.

Sometimes the doctor thought too much. When he needed to stop thinking he brought out the magic brew. It brought up the boogyman, imaginary spiders on bar tables and pink elephants dancing down the road, but he could handle that. Those weren't real. Screaming ambulances were real, and so were the ear pericing shrieks of a flatline. He could shout at the inturns and smash all the windows and mirrors and expensive but useless fucking equipment he wanted, but he could still here that blasting BEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeePPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP. He could still hear it away from the hospital. He could lock all his doors and stuff cotton balls in his ears and it would do no good. THe problem was in his head. So it was in his head that he needed to kill the problem. Tonight, he was drinking straight vodka, in a town miles from cheap apartment. HIS CHEAP FUCKING APPARTMENT. NOT HIS CHEAP FUCKING HOUSE. He had a cheap fucking house until about a month ago UNLES SOME FUCKING..........

He'd get a hotel or something. He'd sleep in a fucking bush- he didn't care. He could get drunk here and no one back home could say shit about it.

Grummbling under his breath, insulting random passerbys, he ran his fingers through his short, spikey red hair and sighed heavily through his nose. He slammed his chin into the table. Through his glass he thought ht reconized someone. Some patient, probably. Oh great. OH GREAT. PANIC, RUN, NO GET OUT BEFORE YOU LOOSE YOUR JOB BECAUSE YOU WONT GET OFF THE HOOK AGAIN-

Wait. That wasn't a patient.

He squinted his electric green eyes. Eye patch? OH SHIT, NO IT WASN'T! Realization dawned on him in silence. He sat there, hands neatly on the table, and then abrutly pushed himself back. The doctor stood and calmly walked towards the conversing gentlemen. Would he be reconized? Better do it fast.

"Mr. Vãduva?" The voice was harsh sounding, but calm.

THEN HE PUNCHED HIM IN THE FACE.

[Obelisk]

((Posting, sorry Veil, no offense meant, I just thought that getting PUNCHED in the face, would warrant an immediate reaction 8) ))

Jericho hadn't been having the best day, hence his hiding away in a club to get drunk. Those issues had been nothing compared to the other down-and-out individual present in the club, however. Still, the lawyer's mood had just begun to pick up, the alcohol starting to work its magic. Out from the corner of his eye, Jericho noticed someone approaching.

He turned, gaze settling on the man's angered features. His usually astute and quick-as-something mind had just placed a name to the man's face when that fist collided against him, near his eye, on his cheekbone.

The force and surprise of it hand sent the lawyer falling out of his seat, chair tipping over. He blinked, he tried to figure out what had just happened, why he was suddenly staring at the ceiling. Where had the band gone? When his drunken brain finally sorted out all the information, Jericho was pissed. Very, very pissed.

Fritz. Dr.Wolf. That bastard, that loud, abrasive bastard that Jericho had nearly put into jail. Of course there was bad blood between them, made even worse, now. The lawyer stood up, his first instinct to run to a mirror and to assess the damage on his face, but no, he had other things to take care of.

" This better not bruise or scar or I swear, I'll KILL you." Jericho's voice could sound downright murderous and menacing when he was so inclined. Even as he yelled he was after Fritz, lashing out to push him, to knock him off balance, again to attempt to deliver a punch to the bastard of a doctor's face.

He'd been content to just sit there and listen to the music, drinking his problems away. Now Jericho was content to beat the hell out of the man who had just attacked him.

[veil]

"Well, Mr.Threat. Do you come here often? I can't say I've seen you before." The lawyer said, brows furrowing just slightly when he felt something was amiss. "Are you alright?" He questioned off handedly, watching the other with an intelligent, if drunk gaze.
"woah," he said, "Mr. Threat is my father, I'm Veil, got it?"
He heard the other man enter before anyone else would another side effect of his "curse" then the person spoke
"Mr. Vãduva?" The voice was harsh sounding, but calm.
THEN HE PUNCHED HIM IN THE FACE.
"Holy," he refrained from swearing, due to the publicness of the area they were iz, "what on earth was that about?" He was overwhelmed, he felt the slight dizziness. no, no, no, no, no, not now, not here.
" This better not bruise or scar or I swear, I'll KILL you."
He saw Jericho take a swing at the other man. Just what he needed a fight, he sighed, He knocked Jericho's Barrom style swing away from the other man's face. Then he gave each of them a long hard look, "What's going on, you can fight all you want after just let me know why," the strain was getting, and it was resulting in a n ugly scowl on his face.

[Rip]

Ok, maybe this wasn't the best plan of revenge. Maybe, JUST MAYBE, there was a simplier way to make himself feel better. He was drunk, he was in a town where basicly no one knew who he was (except for Jericho, haha irony), and he wasn't completely broke. He could come up a clever plan to ruin Mr. Vãduva like Mr. Vãduva had almost ruined him. Maybe he could spy. THAT WOULD BE AN ADVENTURE.

Too bad this was Dr. Fritz Wolf. A very drunk and angry Dr. Fritz Wolf. Thinking? THINKING!? WHO NEEDS TO THINK!?

ONLY STUPID PEOPLE THINK!!

When that flying bitch of a man came barreling towards him Fritz met him head on, punching, kicking and shouting nonsense as he snarled. There were a lot of nonsensual insults, alot of "FAGGOT"s and "YOU'RE STUPID"s as he threw fists and tried to grab at the fucking lawyer's face.

Fights don't tend to break out in jazz clubs. That kind of shit was reserved for bars, and they had gathered quite the little crowd. Fritz grappled until he found enough miloseconds to stand up, and he threw his arms out to the side. Death threats? DEATH THREATS!

"C'MON THEN! You fucking one eyed pansy pirate I'LL RIP OUT THE OTHER ONE AND PLAY POOL WITH IT AND THEN I'LL CHUCK IT AT A MOVING TRAIN! STUPID MOTHERFUCKING ASSWHIPE COME THROW ANOTHER PUNCH! Can ya?" It was spaz time. The doctor over gestured, stomping his feet, face bright red and eyes bulging. "CAN YOU EVEN LIFT YOUR ARM you punch like a girlscout YOU ARE A GIRLSCOUT. MOTHERFUCKING SUNDAY SCHOOL GIRLSCOUT TEACHING NUN IS WHAT YOU ARE! Badass laywer YEARIGHT!!! Ibe... I BET! That yoooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu haven't won a fight since PRESCHOOL."

[Obelisk]

He was a composed man. He was upright he was a true and honest gentleman. He wasn't supposed to be brawling in a Jazz club of all places but he was and Jericho couldn't stop himself. Most of Fritz's attacks met their mark but others were miraculously avoided. Jericho hadn't been this pissed in a long damned time, he was furious, possessed by the need for violence. All those issues in his life, his father, his obsessive need to own up to an image that wasn't him, and now this, this petulant bastard that Jericho never thought he'd ever have to see again. Everything mixed together, the angst, the anger, the frustration and all Jericho wanted was to beat the doctor's face in.

" I am NOT A FAGGOT YOU SORRY EXCUSE FOR A DOCTOR. FUCK YOU, YOU SHOULD HAVE YOUR MEDICAL LISCENCE REVOKED. YOU INCOMPETENT, ASS OF A DOCTOR." He was shouting, shouting so damned loud and viciously. It was almost like the man was growling, a beast heckling its opponent into an attack.

"Too bad your ass isn't rotting in jail where it belongs, Wolf." His voice dropped off from those higher decibels and into a dark, sinister voice. This was one of Jericho's nastier faces, one of his worse, maybe worst, sides. So much hate was directed at Fritz, hate that wasn't justified, hate that belonged to other people who had wronged him.

"Shut up you FUCKING IDIOT." The barbs were too much, Jericho had his masculinity insulted and that was the wrong damned button to push. A closeted gay man tended to overcompensate, to get insanely furious. The lawyer launched himself at Fritz again, throwing a wild punch right towards the doctor's angered face. It wasn't a good idea to fight, oh no, he should've learned that from the last time. A night in jail for fighting really seemed like a worth it trade off if he got to land some hits on that son of a bitch of a doctor.

[veil]

When it became obvious the two men were not going to answer him, Veil decided now was the time, everyone was watching the other two, no one who didn't know what he could do would see, no one would find it odd to see the weasel here, to them, when he was like this he was rose's pet, tremor. He shifted letting the strain that had been clinging to him since he had entered fade away.
He slipped between peoples feet and got close to the two combatants, once near enough, he slashed out at the two of them with his claws, "and may this be a lesson to ya!" he muttered.

[Rip]

Fritz was kinda a vulgar man. He was an excelent doctor but his supiriors always... 'forgot' to mention get-to-geathers at estemed establishments. His version of 'good luck' was 'don't accidentally kill your patient'. His version of 'awsome job' was 'thanks for not sucking at life'. His cheerup sessions included booze and 'hey at least your mother isn't dead. Oh, she is? What about your dad? ... well buy a fucking kitten or something you moopy piece of shit.' It's not that he didn't mean well, it was just...

...

Ok, so maybe he was a sarcastic, mean ass hole of a doctor. But he was incredibly good at what he did and people trusted him. How many men could say patients felt safe when he held a scalpe in his hand? Or a syringe? Or their newborn, premature child? Not many, but Dr. Wolf was one of them. He knew it, too.

That's why the lawsuit had burned so deeply. It wasn't loosing his house. It wasn't almost going bankrupt. It wasn't because he was now drunk, stupid and in a bar fight in the middle of a Jazz club. It was because somebody had the nerve to tell HIM he didn't know what he was doing. Some fat slob who didn't know how to take care of himself and who never grew out of the mental 'I'm superman' phase teenagers went through had the nerve to tell HIM that he was incompedent.

Fuck that shit.

When Jeri had such a reaction to the term 'faggot', Fritz proved he was a more mature person by screaming it over and over again and pointing wildly. "FAGGOTFAGGOTFAGGOT MY DOCTOR SENSES ARE TELLING ME THAT YOUR FUCKING GAY NOW C'MERE SO I CAN TEAR YOU A NEW ONE-"

He was cut off from... whatever he was about to do when a flying... rat thing came, well, FLYING at him. He stood there, arms down, blinking slowly and stupidly, staring at it. Did that rat thing just talk?

Ha. Ha. HahahahaHAHAHAHAHAH!

"DO YOU SEE WHAT YOU DID?" Fritz bellowed, gesturing towards the weasle and then looking at Jericho accusinly. "DO YOU SEE WHAT YOU FUCKING DID?" Obviously, Fritz seeing and hearing a talking weasle was all Jeri's fault. "LOOKWHATYOUFUCKINGDID OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH MY GOD!"

Someone in the back shouted 'I called the police'

[Obelisk]

He wasn't gay. He wasn't a fag. Only freaks of nature, social deviants, and weirdos were fags. He wasn't one if them, oh no, he was as straight as nature intended as was accepted, as was right. He wasn't some pansy-assed faggot that his father would hate, loathe, be disgraced to have in his family. Jericho was the good son, the perfect son, there was nothing wrong with him. He wasn't gay. He wasn't--

" SHUT THE HELL UP." He was furious, face red, teeth gritted, entire body shaking. Jericho had all but forgotten about Fritz's existence. Any grief the man had gone through because of his trial, of being accused of malpractice, Jericho hadn't even cared to think of. It wasn't his job to get emotionally involved. It wasn't his job to care if someone was innocent or guilty. His purpose was to serve his clients, morals be damned. His job was to win and that's what he did best. He didn't think of the consequences unless they were directed towards himself. So Fritz could go screw himself.

He was ready to launch himself at the doctor, ready to tackle the man to the ground when that rodent showed up. Jericho's expression underwent a shift and he looked utterly and completely disgusted. A weasel? What kind of establishment was this place? They needed a goddamned exterminator. Wait...was that thing talking? Jericho must've been drunker than he thought. Or maybe...

"Why the HELL did you have to HIT me SO DAMNED HARD?!" He must've suffered some brain damage or something, that's right. Because weasels didn't talk. Then his attention was directed towards the back of the club. Police? Someone had called the police. Fantastic. He knew it was going to happen but that didn't make things better.

"This is all your goddamned fault, I hope you're HAPPY." The lawyer spat out towards the doctor as he backed away, trying to distance himself from what he considered to be a disease-ridden rodent. Ugh. Weasels.

The police came quickly; there'd been patrol cars in the immediate area. The lawyer shot a dark look at Fritz.

"This is your fault. You idiot. You freaking IDIOT." The words were said as his wrists were cuffed behind his back. To his credit, Jericho didn't put up any protest. He knew better than to argue with the law. This would be the second night in his life that he spent sitting and sobering up within the precinct's drunk tank. Fantastic. FANTASTIC. Sarcasm never tasted so bitter.

Fritz would be arrested, too, and taken along. If the weasel wanted to hitch a ride, it wasn't likely anyone would notice and stop him from doing so.

[veil]

A fight, patrol cars, wow when these two got pissed the went the whole nine yards. It had been rose who had had the common sense to dial the cops, as the two men were being hauled off, Veil, aka tremor, decided it'd be worth it to catch a ride wth them. He slinked into the patrol car just as the door was closing, 'this should be fun,' he thought to himself.
He found the seats quite confortable, not to the point where he'd get arrested to ride in them, but comfy nonetheless. He decided he'd wait 'till those two began to talk before he said anything.

[Rip]

He was far too out of it to notice or care about the police. So what if this could end up on his record? So what if his bosses found out? As if that mattered. Fritz was far too enraged to give two shits about anything except one thing- replying. And he replied in a very short, shouted sentence while he was being dragged away.

"AT LEAST IM NOT GAY!!!"

Very mature Dr. Fritz Wolf. Very mature. Of course, Fritz had no idea that Jericho was, indeed, actually gay. Not that it mattered either way- Jeri was getting called a faggot whither he liked boys or not now that he had shown such a distain for the insult. It was funny and it was a springboard for causing as much emotional distress as possible. At this point, the lawyer was getting blaimed for every problem ever. World hunger, aids, the war, Fritz missing Heroes- EVERYTHING WAS THE FAULT OF THIS GREASY HAIRED PIRATE WITH NO PEGLEG.

Stupid shithead.

The car was coozy, but it also sucked. Fritz was out of it, so he stared furiously out the window, convincing himself that the car was a peice of tut-tuting rusty metal and bird shit streaked. This wasn't true, as the car was actually pretty nice and well kept, but facts didn't apply at the moment. The talking weasle looked like it hitched a ride. Oh great, the lawyer indused hallusination was going to hang around. JOY TO THE WORLLLDDD.

---

When the two jackasses were tossed into the cell, the doctor sat against the wall and glared wide eyed at the bars, giving everyone outside the evil eye. That eye was turned on Jericho eventually, as Fritz crossed his arms over his chest and kicked the metal continuously until his foot felt numb. "You're so stupid."