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by Agonrath on Fri Jan 26, 2007 5:34 pm
The dim lights cascading from the rusty steel poles cast eerie silhouettes of shadow plastered against the grimy pavement as the denizens of the city lumbered about like drunken bums. Actually, a vast majority were just that: drunken losers with no real purpose in life. Smudges on the surface of the city, and they continued to infect the downtown area with a plague of liquor, sex, and murder.
The bar resembled a butchery more than a bar. A few bloodied limbs hanging out of the trash canister in the dark alleyway hooking towards the back of the bar where the bums who couldn't pay for their tab were tossed out like rag dolls. Cheap prostitutes with three inches of makeup slammed upon their visages clicked their two inch long heels upon the sidewalk, waiting for the usual crooked politicians to come make their rounds. The occassional crash was heard inside of the bar, and a blood curdling scream brought about by a rusty knife being driven into an unfortunate victim's kidney. The movements of the patrons' shadows flickered through the dirty and half broken windows, the dark figures dancing merrily along the blood tainted sidewalks. If there was a physical manifestation of Hell, this was surely it.
Agonrath was what the normals of the bar called a "Berserker". When his presence entered the room, everyone was guaranteed that at least one person would leave the bar with a few broken bones, or not leave at all. He was an animal, born like an animal, and raised like one. The man liked his drinks hard, fast, and cheap, similar to how he preferred his women. Agonrath wasn't interested in a four hour long fuck that exhausted him. He wanted the bitch to suck his cock, get her damn crack money, and get the hell out of his face before he ran a length of rusty barbed wire into her ovaries.
This night was just like any other night, but astoundingly Agonrath had been in the bar for two hours and hadn't even drilled the broken end of a bottle into an unlucky occupant's face. He simply sat in his habitat, the bar, taking the occassional chug from his bottle of Jagermeister, his favorite. The bartender, Ricky, was the only one who had managed to form a sort of friendship with the Berserker, and they occassionally spoke of broads, new punks in town that needed their cocks sliced off and fed to them, or liquor.
"Anything new tonight?" Agonrath mumbled almost incoherently, yet a strange fortification was laced within the bass of his tone. His coal black eyes did not even glance up from the bottle of German Whiskey sitting before him. He simply watched the frosty surface of the bottle slowly begin to melt away underneath the overwhelming heat of the bar.
"Nah man, not since last week when that mob son came in here looking for trouble. What'd you do with him anyway?" Ricky inquired, pausing from the task of cleaning a mug with a soiled rag to glance at Agonrath with his hardened grey eyes.
"Shut the fuck up and get me another bottle," Agonrath said dangerously, still not raising his petrified gaze upon the bottle of liquor.
"Sure thing, boss," Ricky said, seeming a bit troubled by the unusual attitude of his usual customer.
Something was going down tonight, that was for sure.
Jagermeister
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