Fights constantly broke out at this bar, but the man in the red, yellow, and black chevron tattoos down his arms was left strictly alone. -- Anon Guest
The sign out front named the establishment the Brawl Inn. The mandatory Standard Language prefixes for food, drink, and rest stood in front, declaring that all three were available within.
There's always a fight going on in there. It's one of the reasons why the plates and drinking vessels were metal. It's among the reason why the tables are bolted to the floor and the chairs are surprisingly bendy for all of their apparent structure.
A certain kind of Deathworlder frequents it. The kind of person who needs to "blow off steam" and beat the ever-loving excrement out of someone who can withstand the process. Those who frequent the Brawl Inn frequently leave it arm in arm with someone who they were punching mere minutes earlier.
There's one patron who goes there exclusively for the food and drink.
He sits alone in a booth, for most of the time. Quietly enjoying their chicken parmigiana or sipping their raspberry tea. The continuous brawl never goes near this booth. Sometimes, someone lands on a nearby table, looks into the booth, and actively runs away in terror.
The booth's occupant is Krag Schmerzmacher. Card-carrying member of Pax Humanis. He's cleared for limited amounts of civil socialisation, but those who anger him at the Brawl Inn soon get a permanent lesson in not doing so.
Whispers had it that the last one to spill his drink had his arm torn off. Whispers lied. They took one look at Krag's tattoo and kept the flakk away from him.
Members of Pax Humanis choose how they're marked for the safety of others. Krag's upper arms contain warning chevrons in the hazard colours. Red. Yellow. Black. A clear signal to stay well away and exercise due caution.
The eternal fight only paused for one of two reasons. When Krag entered, and when Krag left.
The singular clink of cutlery on his plate signalled the rest of the brawlers to slow to a halt. Those in the know surrounded any of the newbies, so that they could not accidentally transgress. All within watching as one man strolled to the counter, left a tip, and went on his way.
Apart from the Inn, one of those who went there to brawl came across Krag at the markets. He kept a sufficient distance and, once permitted, asked a question.
"Why do you go to the Brawl Inn if you never fight?"
Krag said, "They make a really good chicken parm."
[Photo by FotoInToscana by Moira e Raffaella on Unsplash]
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