Crimson Archer - Turk's Bar

[Crimson Archer]

Bars across the world follow a pattern. They start bright and clean, flashing lights and neon promising hedonistic fun or sophisticated distraction depending on their business plan. From there comes the inevitable slide as new customers drift away leaving the regulars. The ones who's faces, names and drinks are known. They turn up regardless of the state of the bar, so the standards slip. Further and further down the spiral the place spins until, at the bottom, it becomes the 'dive' it had always despised when it was new and fresh and clean. Now there is only the nauseating smell of stale beer and urine to compliment the fizz of broken neon signs and the flickering of inadequate overhead lighting. Only the desperate folks drink here now that even the regulars have deserted it. Folks like the figure slumped in the corner table, reddish-blonde hair hiding his face, his fist still gripping an empty bottle of Jack Daniels.

"What do you want me to do with that one, Jerry?" a young man asked as he returned to the bar from collecting empty glasses. The tray hit the bar with a loud 'clink' as the chipped and liquor stained vessels clattered together. He was plain looking with a sparse beard beneath moist looking eyes and thick glasses. A student at the university, He resented working here, but he'd left it too late to apply for summer work and all the best placements were gone. At least this place was quiet.

"I'll handle him. You get yerself off, Dave." Jerry replied with a nod towards the sleeping drunk. Dave the student smiled gratefully and, stripping the apron from his waist, headed quickly for the exit. Jerry didn't bother watching him go. He'd worked at Turk's for long enough to spot who'd be trouble and who was useful if anything kicked off. Dave was neither. He was hard working, but would be no good if the shit hit the fan. Jerry was better off with the shotgun and baseball bat under the bar than the lanky academic. He started to turn off the lights in the room while keeping half an eye on the solitary figure passed out in the corner. Unlike his bar staff this man had a tension about him, even in his present state. Jerry didn't feel particularly threatened by it, but to his mind this customer seemed to the kind of person who'd attract trouble like a magnet.

"Your time's up, fella" Jerry called out as he flicked off the power to jukebox, the strains of "Black Hole Sun" by Soundgarden cut off in mid-chorus.

"Ah was listenin' ta that." The man's voice sounded muffled from his position lying against the table surface. He lifted his head and squinted at the empty bottle. "Dammit... when'd this run out?"

"Just before ya passed out, I'd say." Jerry pulled out the chair opposite the figure and sat down, his stance relaxed and non-threatening.

"Dammit..." he said again, his southern drawl clearer now that he was sitting upright, pushing the hair from his face and fastening it in a ponytail behind his head.

"Didn't you used to be the Crimson Archer?" Jerry asked, his question and manner straight to the point.

"Ain' yer th' sharp one?" Jay replied, thick with sarcasm. "Used ta be... still am."

"I heard they put you in the Zig for killing some kid. That true?"

Jay had kept his gaze on the prying bartender but now dropped his eyes, looking again at the empty bottle. It took too damned long to get drunk these days and he had to keep drinking to try and stay ahead of his 'inherited' healing powers. He'd managed to drink enough whiskey to pass out and all that had done was give his body enough time to process the alcohol straight out of his system. Not drunk, no hangover, but he did feel a mighty desire to piss.

"Look, ah need a leak." Jay pushed himself up from the table, feeling his bladder protest at the sudden movement.

"Key's hung up by the door. Lights are broke, otherwise help yourself." Jerry said, leaning back in his chair as the tall and muscular man headed for the restroom. "You didn't answer my question," he asked when Jay returned moments later.

"No, ah didn'," Jay picked up his jacket from the floor next to the table, checking the pockets for his wallet. "Yeh, ah used ta be th' Archer," he replied, slipping his arms into the jacket and shrugging to settle the heavy leather onto his shoulders. "But ah ain' so sure any more."

Jerry watched him as he strode towards the exit that would take him up the stairs and out onto the streets of Paragon City. "What about the kid?" Jerry called after him. Jay stopped, light filtering in through the open door, rendering him a shape in shadow against it.

"...Her name was Hope," he said over his shoulder and then was gone.

Jerry shook his his head and grabbed the empty whiskey bottle from the table as he stood up. "Fuckin' heroes this town's got," he mumbled to himself as the bottle dropped in to the trash can with a clatter.