Post by Eto on Mar 2, 2016 9:44:01 GMT
Eto had strolled his way once again to club pLace. Perhaps the place was cursed, perhaps he was destined to never get his glass of wine, perhaps god just hated him. Either way, the night was young and it was already getting unpleasant. 'One glass of wine. One is it so much to ask of this place?' He thought to himself as he walked out of the bar less than twenty minutes after arriving, trailed by a group of vampires that identified themselves as Brujah. The club itself was an Elysium, a place of safety for all vampires, they weren't allowed to fight there. But the streets and alleyways outside the place were fair game.
Let's take this little tale back a step, and in good old fashion Irish tradition, we're gonna tell this as a bar tale.
Once upon a time there was this bloody git named Etu or something. Takes a drink of his beer.
This bloke decides he wants a frilly fuckin glass of some bloody pricey wine right? Takes another drink, slapping a passing bar wench on the ass.
Well, we ain't much fer takin his frilly fancy pants in our bar! Right lads? Everyone downs their drink in toast to the sanctity of their bar! Followed by more bar wenches getting their asses slapped, and more beer showing up.
Now everyone knows that when you talk like a git, you get treated like one. Frilly fancy pants city boy talk! Takes a sip of his beer again, spilling some over the edge onto his shirt.
So we takes him out of the bar and kick his ass! More beer drinking and cup clanking!
Wait wait wait gentlemen, are you referring to me?
Yaaaaa! Ya frilly git!
Great... Morons...
The feck you say pretty boy?
I just want a glass of wine...
Yeah, and I want to take the bar wench home and sew some oats, and that ain't happenin'!
Outside. Now.
Eto walks them all out to the wharf, completely silently and turns once they've cleared a couple of the large shipping containers. His scimitars are safely stashed away in their respective scabbards and he looks each and every one of them over. They're all carrying crude weapons, chains, clubs, a sledge hammer. "Bothersome..." He said quietly before rushing into the crowd, smashing heads and knees. It isn't long before they're all on the ground, groaning or unconscious. With the chains they'd wanted to use as weapons, he ties them up and takes them to the Manor.
And that's how we beat the frilly git and he used his black magic to tie us up! The drunken Brujah explains to Amy triumphantly, still tied to his fellow clan mates.
I hate St. Patricks Day...
Let's take this little tale back a step, and in good old fashion Irish tradition, we're gonna tell this as a bar tale.
Once upon a time there was this bloody git named Etu or something. Takes a drink of his beer.
This bloke decides he wants a frilly fuckin glass of some bloody pricey wine right? Takes another drink, slapping a passing bar wench on the ass.
Well, we ain't much fer takin his frilly fancy pants in our bar! Right lads? Everyone downs their drink in toast to the sanctity of their bar! Followed by more bar wenches getting their asses slapped, and more beer showing up.
Now everyone knows that when you talk like a git, you get treated like one. Frilly fancy pants city boy talk! Takes a sip of his beer again, spilling some over the edge onto his shirt.
So we takes him out of the bar and kick his ass! More beer drinking and cup clanking!
Wait wait wait gentlemen, are you referring to me?
Yaaaaa! Ya frilly git!
Great... Morons...
The feck you say pretty boy?
I just want a glass of wine...
Yeah, and I want to take the bar wench home and sew some oats, and that ain't happenin'!
Outside. Now.
Eto walks them all out to the wharf, completely silently and turns once they've cleared a couple of the large shipping containers. His scimitars are safely stashed away in their respective scabbards and he looks each and every one of them over. They're all carrying crude weapons, chains, clubs, a sledge hammer. "Bothersome..." He said quietly before rushing into the crowd, smashing heads and knees. It isn't long before they're all on the ground, groaning or unconscious. With the chains they'd wanted to use as weapons, he ties them up and takes them to the Manor.
And that's how we beat the frilly git and he used his black magic to tie us up! The drunken Brujah explains to Amy triumphantly, still tied to his fellow clan mates.
I hate St. Patricks Day...
