multiversallogs | Urge to Kill... Rising...

Who: Eddie Brock/Venom & OPEN
What: Eddie tries to deal with his anger management problems. Befriend him!
Where: The Apache, Mog Hill
When: Late at night (several days before his fight with Tommy and Billy)
Notes: Multiple threads are fine. If you want to have an encounter with Venom instead of Eddie, that can be arranged, as he's feeling predatory right now.
Warnings: Possible violence.

If there's one thing Eddie Brock doesn't like about the symbiote-- one teeeeeny, tiny downside-- it's the fact that it costs him about three times as much to get hammered these days. It's his (their) fourth whiskey downed, and he's only now starting to get a good, warm buzz. Freaking alien-fortified alcohol tolerance. Feeling just the slightest effects of the alcohol is like a goddamn tease. All it does is annoy him.

Actually, right now, the same can be said about, well, everything. Every single noise, every single stupid, weak, soft sack of flesh in the bar tonight-- and God, there are just so many. The guy to his right crowds him, keeps bumping his elbow against Eddie's arm. He thinks about tearing him open with each slurred "Sorry." It's not you, guy, really. There's just a monkey on Eddie Brock's back, that's all. A vicious, bloodthirsty, monkey.

Eddie laughs, shrugs, starts on his fifth whiskey. Not a care, not this guy. When his burger arrives (rare, very rare, just the way they like it), he tries to channel his aggression into it. What he's thinking about as he quickly tears into the bloody patty would've disgusted him a couple weeks ago. Probably. Made him a little squeamish, at least.

Now? He's bored and a little anxious. It's not enough to just think about these things anymore. He's just itching to sink his claws into something, somebody, hell, he's not picky. Thin black tendrils begin to creep up the back of his neck-- hey, hey, no. Down. Not here.

He finishes the burger-- practically inhaled it-- and shoves the plate away, focusing his attentions on the drink again. Tonight, he decides. Once he's finished here, it's time to go out and play. He could use a laugh-- and, hell, some cash, if he happens to corner somebody with a little disposable income on 'em.

He turns his back to the bar, eyes scanning over the crowd. Right now, he's just Brock, Edward Brock, the harmless, obnoxious idiot who tries a little too hard to impress. Nothing to see here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

She really shouldn't be in this bar. Maggie doesn't even want to be in this part of town. It looks rough and God knows she can't fight to save her life. But there are cheap drinks at the Apache and her paycheck from Hellsing only goes but so far.

One beer and she's out. Maybe two, but that's it. She'll stay right here as the bar and talk only to the bartender. That'll keep her safe.

Yeah right.

Unfortunately, Maggie's on the other side of Eddie Brock, and now that he's done with his hasty meal, he sees... (yes, he's going to be cheesy enough to think this) dessert. He glances at her, then leans over to get closer.

"Beer instead of cosmos and margaritas? My kind of girl." Winning smile. "What's your name, beautiful?"

Her name is very close to the name of one of those drinks this clown looks down on, but Maggie isn't about to tell him that. In fact, she isn't going to tell him anything and chooses instead to physically recoil away from him, widening her personal bubble.

Damn men.

Though Mog Hill is a bit out of the way from Griss Twist, where the Samizdat editors are stubbornly holed up like grime between bathroom tiles, Erik still lives in the Valhalla Inn, and on the rare occasion that John finds himself in that area, he usually ends up needing a drink (no offense, Erik). He likes the Apache for its decor and its strident lack of Samizdat editors.

Upon entering, he spots Eddie almost right away, and while he doesn't have much of an opinion of the guy so far, other than 'oh thank god he's a million times less drunk on the job' it would be kind of weird/awkward/rude to ignore him. So he does that undemonstrative dude head nod greeting as he makes his way over to the bar, whereupon he becomes irritated at getting non-seriously carded. It is a minute or two of Extremely Highbrow Hassling John Because He Shaved Comedy before he gets around to actually saying anything to Eddie.

"Hey."

Eddie's been keeping an eye on the flow of people in and out of the Apache, looking for anyone who's coming in or leaving alone. There were a few he could've gone after, but they were leaving sober. Not exactly what he wanted to go after right now.

There's something predatory in his eyes when John enters, but it's gone in a flash once he realizes that, no, that skinny kid who looks like an easy target is actually his coworker. Not just that, but the one who got him his job in the first place. Eddie may not be a loyal, upstanding guy, but he's not about to shit where he eats. So, he offers John a grin and lets the guy get his drink without hassling him (there's enough of that from the bartender, anyway).

"Hey, buddy. Didn't expect to see you 'round this part of town." He probably shouldn't be calling attention to that, since Eddie himself doesn't even live in Mog Hill anymore. But hey, again, he's not going to go start trouble where he lives. That's just stupid. "I can't belieeeeve they card here."

"Ha ha," John says sourly, though in fact he's not really that irritated, at least not at Eddie. He's about to take a drink when the fact he stationed himself on Eddie's right comes back to haunt him. That drunk guy elbows him now instead.

"The fuck, asshole," he snaps, which fails to clear any significant amount of space, due to the aforementioned carding. "Jesus, is it douchebag hour?" That's directed at Eddie, because that is basically how guys bond, mutual griping. And a lot of small guys have attitude to make up for it, but John seems particularly unworried about his physical well-being — weirdly at ease rather than obviously itching to prove something.

Jules is, once again, making the bad decisions of pushing down those bad feelings with too much liquor - a habit that might have been relieved in shorts bursts by the company of Hasi and Ilde, by dabbling in fog trading, by thinking about whimsical, happy things like getting a puppy-- but like most things, those heavy feelings weren't something that could just be shrugged away. Pressed to the background for a while, maybe, but certainly not permanently dismissed.

The Hunger is still needling at her gut, too, the need to feed. She has to feed soon, before it gets too fearsome, but there's been nothing. She knows the answer, she does, knows to look for the Candlelighters, but for some reason drowning her sorrows took first priority. The desire to fight, to unleash that monstrous part of her just keeps rising, though, until she abruptly leaves the side of the person who just offered to buy her a drink (contact confirmed he was sleazy, but not worthy of being condemned as a main cause). She rushes on her way out - accidentally shoving dear, harmless Eddie as she goes. Better to be out of the crowd fast, so she doesn't pay any mind, doesn't apologise, and definitely shoves him a little too hard - monster strength can be a problem, that way.

Urge to Kill... Rising...

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I am happy to change this if it doesn't work into a lead-in for what we discussed :D