[open;] if the dust in my pocket were silver or gold

[bravers]

WHO: Cloud Strife and your character! (Hopefully.)
WHAT: A few of the dive bars in Cadens are favourites of lower-ranking members of the military for multiple reasons. Some examples of which are a "don't ask, don't tell" ethos, cheap drinks, and more recently? Gambling. Tournaments are held infrequently at a few back-alley bars within the capital, with the prize pot going to the victor. Seeking funds, Cloud has decided to participate.
WHEN: End of October!
WHERE: Cadens
WARNINGS: Poor depictions of violence, probably.

NOTES: I wasn't going to do a tournament is actually happening right now tag but if you want your character to participate, PM me! I'll put one up!

Comments

[bravers]

[Something seems to shift. He's haggled enough about pay to have a sense of when it isn't going to happen- and the barkeep is going a strong impression that after all of that, the best he can hope for is a drink and a moldy rag to put against his face.

He doesn't know Sam's behind him, and he sure as hell doesn't know about the influence the other man seems to have upon the owner. But something shifts. He's slid a small bag of money hard enough across the bartop to stand a good chance of bypassing him entirely and bursting open on the floor- but perhaps tellingly to Sam, his reactions are quick. Too quick for most, but his hand slams down atop the bag, and the contents are emptied out.

Looks like the barkeep took at least half.
Bastard.]

Asshole.

[The murmur is countered instantly, though whether it's from his lack of pay, the murmur itself, or something else entirely? Who knows. The coins are transferred to the pocket of his trousers- perhaps Sam would notice they're military ones, belonging to the Free Cities armed forces- and puts his hand in the bag, resting that against the side of his face.

But then he notices he's being spoken to.]

You running something similar?

[A flick of his eyes to him. They're an unnatural, chemical blue, ringed in green. Ludicrously bright- shaped wide, as if the man is still young- still impressionable- but any impression of innocence is flawed by the fact they're narrowed.
In the dim, almost black gloom of the bar, it's almost as if they're glowing with a light of their own.]

Hope you pay more than that dick.

[falcony]

[ sam doesn't really know the extent to what the blond had been trying for, or what he was owed. all he does know is that the man behind the bar is smart enough to know what sam's look means, and slides across some of that coin in the end. sam feels better knowing that whoever this new one is, they've at least been paid for the effort and time he's put into the fight - but when he turns around to face sam, he needs a moment to be startled by the look in his eyes.

bright but also dark, hardened, and yet impossibly young. sam looks at them for a second long before he's able to actually blink, pulling himself back to what he's doing here, why he walked over at all.

his brows lift at the question, noting the military issue clothing. the tense but practiced hold of his shoulders. the military training in him isn't a hard thing to recognize - sam's spent more of his lifetime around similar looks and feels than not. ]

An underground fight ring? Or a scam? 'cause the answer's neither. [ he holds out a hand to shake - a silent prayer immediately going up, once again, that this one knows what a handshake it. ]

My name's Sam.

[bravers]

Cloud.

[His gaze drops to the sight of Sam's extended hand- registering the gesture for what it is, and the hand cradling the dirty bag to the side of his face tightens slightly as if in some faint anxiety, but he doesn't move to shake it.

His gaze moves away, across the bar, and it seems a faint exhale is being held back... almost as if he's willing himself to stay hardened. As if he's rearranging a front just a little more, raising the walls kept around himself.

Then his gaze returns. And perhaps harshly, a little too harshly than the situation calls for:]

So what do you want?

[He peels the bag from his face. No pain. Right, so it was someone else's blood. That's something. It's placed, with a faint amount of disgust, to the side of him, atop the bar... where it instantly starts to seep some of the substance into some spilled liquor. ]

[falcony]

[ ah, so that's how it is. sam notices the hesitancy of the shake, that he gives his name but doesn't quite allow himself to reach back out for it. sam, now more curious than even before, watches those eyes shoot across the room and then come back to him, as harsh as ever.

sam doesn't react to the edge to them, brows lifting briefly, a friendliness to it almost in spite of the hardened reaction. it's a defensive mechanism, he's assuming. which just means he needs to take this a little slower ]

To talk to you, for one. [ sam's eyes go to the rag, the blood on the blonde, one of his brows lifting a bit higher. he'd watched the fight, knew that it wasn't his blood, necessarily, but that doesn't always mean he doesn't need to watch it when he's walking around. ] I can offer food on my dime and a chance for you to get cleaned up, in exchange. It won't be long.

[bravers]

Why? You don't know me. I don't know you. So if you want to talk to someone that badly, try one of these drunks- or get a damn dog.

[Sam does not deserve this.
He absolutely does not deserve this.

But the blonde honestly thinks his pretense, his mask, isn't full of holes. He thinks there's no vulnerability in his face beneath his scowl- he thinks Sam hasn't pegged him for what he is- reeling, uncertain, and spiraling in a world that doesn't make any sort of sense. So yeah, he's building his walls higher. And his hand closes, tighter, on his meager pay.

He's assuming, wrongly, of course, that Sam sees him as a mark. Some idiot with some money, and that he's planning on relieving him of it in some back alley when he steps outside.

Why?
Because that kind of thing happened where he was from. It's about the only logical reason he can think of for this kindness- it being feigned.]

[falcony]

[ there it is - as if on cue, or perhaps it's just that sam has been doing this for long enough to know when to expect it. the offering, the simple gesture, and in response there is one of three things. first, an acceptance, albeit hesitant. second, enthusiasm. or, third, this - a lashing out, barbed walls, someone so used to violence or betrayal that they can't let themselves take a chance, especially if it seems too good to be true.

it's why sam's lifted brow holds, even through the sharp words. he doesn't seem to be affected by the tone, either, not scared off or even surprised by it. ]

No- we don't really know each other. But I can probably take a guess at a few things that I assumed you wouldn't want to chat about where half the city's underground can hear. And- you know- I also figured you wouldn't turn down a free meal. But hey, I've been wrong before. [ he shrugs - because while he hadn't really wanted to push off this conversation for longer, if he could help it, he's also not one to force himself into someone's space. especially when that someone was keen to not let anyone in.

sam sighs, letting a hand come up to rub at the back of his neck. his eyes drift to the space immediately around them, as if checking to see how close the others were, just how much immediate privacy they might have. ] Listen- Cloud. You're new around here, yeah? Just came through the well? [ a beat, and then sam's hand drops, his attention fully on the other again with a kind of gentle seriousness. ] It won't take long, and you can leave whenever you want, but I'm pretty sure you have questions that you're not super comfortable with asking the people that are from here.