iesus | open rp post

"Ain't about the money anymore, friend." Merle snarled, but he wouldn't waste the chance to get the rest of what he was owed, snatching the wallet to pluck out his fair share. Which of course was all of it in Merle's opinion. "Let one of these idiots try and short me without teachin' him a lesson, and they'll all think they can get away with it. They're slow like that."

Like the idiot that was creeping up on Merle's other side, likely ready to bash him upside the head with the bottle in his hand. Not that he got far, the moment the bottle was lifted, the younger man at Merle's back exploded into movement, fist connecting with the drunk's jaw, sending him careening back into a knot of nearby witnesses. Which of course didn't help matters, beer spilling on one of the others in a vest like Merle's. The first redneck to laugh at him got a punch swung his way and...

Sorry Jesus, things just went past 'talk it down' in a hurry.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Now he was just exasperated. Still didn't think it was a bad choice coming here, but really, this put a damper on the night. When things started to go bad the guy under him struggled enough to nearly get free and Jesus had to drag him up into a hold, barring across his neck and holding tight - careful, but tight - and not letting go until he could drop him to the table unconscious but otherwise fine.

It wasn't what he'd wanted to do, but sometimes you couldn't help it. Now that he was actively involved one of the others aimed a punch toward him and got a glancing blow in before he could move away entirely but he was still cognizant enough to grab the guy by the arm and use his full body weight to slam him down.

He wasn't happy about this but well, there wasn't much he could do about it.

There was in fact a brief stint where one redneck grabbed both his arms to hold them behind his back - but he just used the position to bring his legs up and slam both feet flat against the man in front of him square in the chest, knocking both men off balance.

It was a mess, the fight spreading through the establishment quickly, everyone seemed to have something against everyone else in a small town like this, so it never took much of an excuse for this particular subset of the town to turn out.

Daryl wasn't paying much mind to the newcomer other than to avoid the swing of arms and legs, instead focusing on taking out anyone that came near his brother or himself, much less about light acrobatics and more about taking them out hard and fast with fists and elbows. Merle didn't pay much mind to his brother, instead focused on laying out anyone that got too close, clearly enjoying the ruckus more than the younger man.

So much for a quiet night's drink?

He noticed easily enough that the younger of the men didn't seem to enjoy what was going on, and that the elder was practically reveling in it. It frustrated him to see someone dragged into this kind of thing when they didn't want to even more than fighting in the first place frustrated him. Still, even with their differing styles it was quick enough that they had cleared a swath around them. There was one guy that looked to be coming up behind both brothers quiet enough that they wouldn't notice him.

With a loud curse, Jesus grabbed the younger of them by the shoulder and yanked him aside so that he could punch the last guy directly in the face. The first outright, over-the-top violent thing he'd done all night. Still, the one blow was enough to clock him, sending him down limbs flailing.

"I just," he muttered, "wanted to drink some shitty whiskey in peace."

Luckily at this point the bartender seemed to have had his fill and was moving through the room, systematically breaking up clusters of brawling patrons insisting that they either take the fighting outside or sit the fuck down and quit it. It seemed to be working, and slowly most were either slipping out or settling down, other than a few stubborn assholes.

Like Merle and the guys that seemed to be coming after him at the moment. Daryl wasn't expecting to be pulled away like that, and unfortunately his being off-kilter meant that the next guy taking a swing at him while everyone was distracted hit home, sending him sprawling against one of the tables with a startled curse. By this point the bartender had made his way towards them shouting at Merle in a loud tone that just had the other drunks scattering back to their groups, dissipating the final bits of brawling.

Of course when Merle turned to see his brother nursing a bloody nose he couldn't help but laugh, crossing to slap Daryl's shoulder, which just earned a scowl.

"Baby bro, did you really let that fuckup get the drop on you?" Nope, Daryl was not pleased at being laughed at, especially not with that teasing commentary, just jerking from his brother's grasp to stalk back towards the bar.

Well, shit.

That was on him and it pissed him off - he was glad the fighting was winding down but the fact that this guy laughed at his own brother for getting injured made him angry all over again. Even though the fighting was over he strode over, grasping him by the front of the shirt and drawing up to his full height, slight as it was. Either way, he was sharp and unflinching, hand fisted in the fabric. "I'm not going to punch you because the kind bartender has put up with enough shit for one night and I don't fancy getting kicked out, but you're gonna listen to me right now. Just for a minute, then I'll be done with your time."

There's not even a slight pause - he doesn't give even a chance for there to be a reply. "You were given how many chances to stop this shit before it got bad? You kept going, though. Kept going like a moron and got your own brother hurt. That's on you, not him."

A pause and he let go, smiling placidly as he patted where he'd just been grasping. "Now, I'm gonna go buy another drink and hopefully it'll be a nice peaceful night from here on out."

Well, if nothing else he was very sure of himself. He walked back to the bar, thinking nothing of turning his back, though he was alert as ever as he leaned against the edge and gestured for another whiskey - and a beer for the guy next to him. "Sorry," he said at length, "that move made it my fault you got clocked. Let me at least get your next beer."

He didn't expect friendliness in return or even something cordial. Just an acceptance of a free beer.

It seemed Merle was in a good mood after the brawling, so that response from Jesus? Just had him laughing even more after, amused more than anything.

"Well would'ja look at the brass set on this guy!" Killing the last of his own drink before he thumped the glass back onto the bar, jerking a thumb towards the door as more of the bikers were filtering out. "C'mon bro, we're heading back to the club."

"M'good." Daryl grumbled, fingers curling around his half-empty bottle of beer, scowl deepening. "Gonna finish my drink."

"Suit yerself." Merle shrugged, dropping a couple bills by his empty glass in a light flick before sauntering towards the door. "You know where I'll be."

And the unspoken 'find your own damn ride' that accompanied the comments as the door slammed behind the man as he left. They'd been picking up supplies which meant they'd been in the pickup, which meant that Daryl got the lovely option of walking later. Not that it bothered him much now, one brow lifting slightly at the apology. Offering a small, uncaring shrug.

"Shit happens in a fight, ain't anyone's fault but the fucker throwin' the punch." But there was a small nod at the offer of a beer, Daryl could understand feeling bad a situation went to shit.

It was better than getting punched in the face, so really Jesus just rolled his eyes at Merle, completely unruffled, though he was glad when he left. Club. Of course. It was only then that Jesus got really settled again, shoulders relaxing minutely under his coat. Mostly he was tired.

Sitting next to Daryl was fine, though. As was the... kind? absolution for getting him punched. "Still. You good?" He nursed his whiskey instead of pounding it down, staring into the glass.

Eventually though, he sighed and flexed his fingers, working the joints idly. "He always like that?"

Merle, he meant. There was no judgement in his tone in any case - at least, not for Daryl.

Daryl shrugged, plucking up the napkins that the bartender left for him, mopping up the blood from his mouth and chin. Probing his nose lightly but finding nothing actually wrong other than it being sore and bloody, he seemed to settle.

"Been hit worse.No real damage." Pausing to take a drink. He'd bruise up probably, but that was nothing new or anything to worry about in his opinion.

The question about his brother- and he knew it was about him, something about the tone just was so familiar with others when they brought up Merle. Taking a longer drink before setting the bottle down again, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"S'just Merle." Aka, yes, he was always like that.

Jesus settled too, once it was certain his nose wasn't broken, at least. Being hit worse didn't make being hit this time all right, but he didn't comment on it, just frowned a little as he took another drink.

Of course the question was about Merle. He nodded though, glancing over. He'd figured as much, but asking at least confirmed it. "Seems like a real treat to be around, in my opinion." Tipping the glass in his hand to swirl the whiskey slightly, his lips twisted a little. "His name's Merle, huh? Mind if I ask you yours?"

Just making conversation, of course.

"Dunno. Just how he is, could be worse." Clearly Daryl had been around some really shit people; his 'decent person' meter was all fucked up.

But honestly he wasn't sure how to respond to actual conversation, his tone a bit... uncertain because this was new, how did people do this stuff?

"Daryl. M' Daryl." That was a good start right? "How about you?"

"Could always be worse. Doesn't make what you got good." A beat. "Sorry, I'm not talking shit on your brother. Too much."

His smile was a little wry - but he was still in conversation, and that was good enough for him. And he got a name.

"Nice to meet you, Daryl. I'm Jesus." Another beat, this one a little embarrassed. "Or, well. Paul. All my friends call me Jesus, though."

"Well, you did just get stuck in the middle of one of his little dustups, can't blame you for bein' kinda pissed." Daryl just shrugged, taking the new bottle the bartender set in front of him, popping the cap to take a long swig.

"Paul was an asshole. Stick with Jesus." Giving him a bit of a hard time? Just a little, it was how he did things after all.

"If this is a little one, I don't want to see a big one." He set his glass down, still partially full, but he wasn't going anywhere. "Man, I just wanted to have a nice drink. Besides, it looked to me like you were stuck too."

And then he was letting out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "See, most people give me crap for the Jesus part, but I like the way you play it."

"Involves more weapons usually." Not commenting on the 'stuck too' part though that was probably just as telling as anything he might say in response.

"Ain't the weirdest nickname I've heard, or the dumbest." A small shrug, but the scowl that seemed to be almost eternal was slightly softened at the amusement he heard from Jesus at the commentary. Dude was odd, but he was turning out to be alright.

The silence about it was definitely more telling. "Can't say I'm fond of those, no." It was true enough - he really rather preferred dealing with hands and feet. Just. In general. Way worse to worry about escalation.

It wasn't a smile but Jesus was still happy enough with something as small as a softening around the edges. Sometimes, that was all you got. "Have heard some real shitty ones in the past. I try not to judge, but sometimes..."

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