Bars. Tch. Who needs'em? [Private]

Dropping like flies, the men standing around the well-dressed man in sunglasses were slowly, but surely, approaching him with the intent to injure him, no matter what it took. There were approximately six of the bastards standing here right now, and each of them were probably about a head-and-a-half taller than the already-tall man in the middle. A cigarette hung loosely from between his lips, long wisps of smoke trailing into the air around him as he watched quietly and with all of the preparation of a tiger, readying himself to fight against resistant prey. His arms were down at his sides, hands balled into fists. His eyes, being of the darkest shade of grey, were carefully scanning the men who stood around him. All of them carried a makeshift weapon of some kind--one of them, a pool cue. Another, a stool. The third, a metal tray. His friend had a slab of wood from a table, and the last had an actual weapon--a small knife. The man in the middle, however, was certainly and completely unarmed, and obviously at a disadvantage.

That being said, there was a confident grin on the face of this man, the cigarette now being hung between two teeth. There were already two others on the ground. A third had joined them about a second ago, yet these five weren't backing down. Maybe they were just stupid? Or maybe there was something else, that this suited man had yet to understand. Was it a territorial need? Possibly. However, instead of attempting to discern the motives of such brutes, the man decided to take them on in a simple battle of strength. Mostly because they'd pissed him off. Oh, had they ever pissed him off. The grin on his lips was confident, but hid an annoyance that wouldn't go away until these fuckers were rolling around on the ground.


He'd come here for a few drinks. It had been relatively nice, and all that. Sitting at the bar, he had his first beer. About halfway through the pint of lager, a hand was shoved into his back and had been forceful enough to knock him forwards and cause him to drop the beer that he was holding. Turning around and glaring through his sunglasses, he had realized that there were several people behind him, obviously ready to back him up if need be. Fine by him. Looking at the bartender for a second, he got an expression from the guy that basically said 'get rid of the assholes'. He didn't need any more confirmation. Turning quickly on the stool, his leg swept under the feet of the man, knocking him to the ground, the suited Quincy dropped onto one knee, slamming it into his chest. Within a half-second, another man had charged at him. He pushed himself up and off of the prone and now-unconscious assailant, charging at the other with almost equal speed. A fist slammed out, and he was certain that he could hear the sound of bones breaking in his chest. The man was dropped, and this guy who had only wanted a drink... stood up to meet six other attackers, all armed and ready. The first swung an arm at him, aiming to take out his head. A quick duck and kick, and he was on the ground without resistance. And now we get to where we are.

The first two men, finally realizing that they couldn't take this guy alone, charged--the one with the pool cue swung it at the suited guy's throat, while the one with the stool used it in a charge, holding up the end with the legs to use as a makeshift battering ram, except against a man, not a wall. Grabbing the cue with one hand, the male moved forwards in a single and quick step, wrenching it out of the other's hands and turning it over, shoving it in between the legs of the stool, forcing it to change its path, taking its wielder with it and causing him to run headfirst into the bar. The first attacker, now weaponless, swung a large fist at his target, only to find him not there. A fist in his back signified the location of his attacker, slamming him and sending him sprawling onto the ground. Turning on his heel, the man in the suit that was reminiscent of a priest's outfit grinned, showing that the cigarette in his mouth hadn't moved an inch. The other three hesitated for a second, before turning on their heels and running off. A wise decision, thought the man in the suit. Finally finished with the attackers, he turned his movements into a casual gait, approaching the barstool upon which he first sat, looking at the bartender with a bothered expression.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you! I've been trying to get rid of those men for weeks! You won't ever have to pay for a drink here again, no matter who you get it for! Of course, I do need to know your name..." Looking up at him through the sunglasses, the grey-eyed, dark-haired man raised a pair of fingers up, pulling out the cigarette. He turned his head slowly, breathing out a long plume of smoke before snuffing the smouldering stick in an ashtray. Sighing softly, he turned his head back.

"Risteárd. Risteárd Engel."

"DUDE'S A FUCKING MONSTER!" He couldn't help but laugh softly--it was always amusing to see the young'uns attempting to be tough, but being so quickly defeated in a real fight. Closing his eyes and swallowing back a couple of draughts of his alcohol, the man let his head lean back a little. He had no cigarettes left--he'd have to buy a few more on the way back to the school. Although that bothered him, the alcohol helped. If only he could get drunk, now that would make life easier. He couldn't help but hide his soft chuckles, wondering if he could at least get a little tipsy from all of this--it was unlikely, though. "Uh... Did... you kill them or something?" An eyebrow raised up into the air as the glass was placed back onto the bar, Risteárd slowly turning in his seat in order to see whom he was being spoken to by. Eyes hidden by glasses turned upon a young female, most likely human. Red eyes, black hair--an interesting combination, indeed. Body wasn't half bad, either, though Risteárd knew that there was someone back at the school who would kill him for that thought. He had to wonder her age--though he wouldn't ask a lady that. Sighing softly, he laughed and shook his head. "Hah, if they died from that, then I'd be even more worried about the state of today's youth," He would say, despite not looking much older than 30 himself, belying the fact that he was almost two hundred years old.

"Well shit... If I had known I'd get free drinks, I would have done the shit myself..." Heard that. 'course, she seemed more the person to start those fights, as opposed to finish them--Risteárd was just in the right place, at the right time. Add to that the fact that most of them were former students of his, and he could only laugh at the thought. "Something tells me that they had a grudge. You don't often see y'er old principal in a little bar like this." He grinned and laughed softly, shaking it off as if it were nothing. He ran Karakura High School in an amusing way, and it lead some students to hate it, while others loved it unequivocally. Obviously, these former students were in the 'hate' bracket. Sighing at that thought, Risteárd turned back on his seat, sipping his beer with a lowly smirk. "So, newbie..." "Eh?" He turned his face slightly to meet her gaze, wondering what could be so important that she'd interrupt his beer. "What brings you here to this bar? Most of the people here are regulars, including myself... Haven't seen you here before." Ah, conversation-making. Interesting. Looking back at his beer for less than a second, he turned on his seat and leaned back slightly. Closing his eyes and chuckling, Risteárd simply shook his head. "What can I say? I found a bar, came in to have a few drinks." He tapped his chin, as if acting out a way to find any additional reasoning for his being here. "I hope I'm not intruding on the place for you regulars." He smirked, almost teasing.

"You found bar, huh? And no... It's nice to see a new face in here ev-... Wait, what the fuck. How old are you?" And from that, a nice statement turned into a strange and certainly unexpected question. How old was he? Why did that matter, for one? That said, it was always interesting to see people's reactions to it. Reaching out for his beer and bringing it to his lips to be rapidly downed, Risteárd gave a soft chuckle at the girl's expression. "Okay, you can't be more than twenty-five years ol-.. Ah.. No, I for- Never mind.. Eh..." Oh, she noticed? He almost had to laugh at that. "Close...I guess"

"I'm sorry about that... Unlike a lot of people with their own special talents... I wasn't one of those to be blessed with the ability to stop aging... The age I look is unfortunately the age I am." Aha. Yeah, there were some people who don't get that much luck--that said, it was almost a curse for Risteárd in some ways. He had to deal with people assuming him much younger than he really was, and add to that the people who thought that he was just some young idiot with power, running an entire high school? Pah, screw them. Downing the last of the drink, he placed it on the bar and chuckled softly, shaking his head slowly. "You said your name was... Uh... Risteárd, right?" A hand was produced, and she introduced herself as Kyron. easily taking it and shaking, Risteárd nodded slowly. "Yeah, tha's me. Risteárd Engel. And then, she pointed out that a couple had begun to wake up. Turning on his seat, he stared at them as they stood up and slowly looked.

"Wanna go another round?" The men... screamed like girls and ran. He so did not expect that to occur. Turning back on his seat, he tapped the bar. "Probl'm solved." Taking another swig of beer from his mysteriously-refilled glass, Risteárd slowly looked over in her direction and grinned. "FYI, I'm about 162. 163 in January." He chuckled softly and shook his head with a louder laugh. "And you... would you like a drink?" He grinned, the roguish tones lining his face.