Gray Heroics: Book 1

Criminally Abrasive: Chapter 3

Out of the rain and into a local bar, Gwenth's presence is given brief attention by the small bell that rings above the door upon her entering. Sopping wet from head to toe, but the blank expression on her face gives the impression she's not particularly giving it much thought. Moving forward, she soon comes to claim one of the stools at the counter as a seat and sets her bag down beside it. The bartender inside approaches just as he finishes cleaning out a glass cup with the small towelette in his possession.

"Interesting outfit there. You military?" He asks.

"Huh?" Confusion takes form across her features, just until realization comes knocking and memories enter to remind her of the older days. 
"Oh, yeah..." She utters, taking a moment to place her hands just above her brows and under the wet strands of hair that threatens to stick to her skin and then brush those loose tufts of hair back, slicking as much as she could down against her scalp.
"Yeah, I've got some military background. All of it feels like it came and went in a blink." She answers and follows up with small commentary. A soft chuckle emits within her throat as she reminisces on those long years she spent indulging in war. Not for any real noble reason or cause. Sometimes it was for money, sometimes it was simply a means to pass the times, and other times it was for my own personal enjoyment. No remorse haunts her through the nights. At some point, something inside of her became distorted. Broken? Cracked? No, those words aren't quite accurate. It was as if she evolved into something complicated.

"I hear how that's usually how it goes. Did you spend a year or three out there?" He asks.

"Oh, no, no. Much, much, MUUUUCH longer than that. Recalling my last birthday, I'd say I spent... At least 50 years as a part of infantry. Mercenary work, too. I did it for a while before it started getting old." She answers.

"What? There's no way. You don't even look a day over nineteen. Maybe even seventeen. C'mon, be real with me here." He remarks.

"Ya don't believe me, huh? Tell me then, what do you folks consider elderly? When do you toss grandma and grandpappy into the retirement home 'round these parts?" She asks.

"About... 60 or 70, I'd say." He answers.

"Daaaaang. You guys must age as fast as a sniper round hitting a mark from 82 meters." Gwenth comments, emphasizing by snapping the fingers of her right hand. Her left now acting as a pedestal for her chin after she props its respective elbow atop of the counter.
"Gone in an instant." She adds.

"You guys? You make it sound as if you're from an entirely different planet." The bartender responds, grinning as he cocks a brow. Fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

"That's because I am. I'm not from this world." She responds stoically, staring in turn with a blank-like stare. The other, the employee standing on the opposite side of the counter, stares back. Waiting in silence as if expecting a punchline to a joke to come any second. He even presents a toothy grin in anticipation. But, after quiet seconds, it still doesn't come.

What interrupts those rather internally painful dozen seconds is the sudden sound of metal dribbling along concrete outside. A car winds up flipping and bouncing down the block until it lands immaculately in front of the bar's entrance - the two can see the vehicle lying on its side through the establishment's windows. In addition, the screeching of tires could be heard as another car swerves while coming to a halt before making contact with the other.

"Oh, what have we here?" Gwenth questions softly, her eyes perking up just enough to suggest she's mildly intrigued.

"Could be the local heroes on duty stopping a getaway, maybe?" The bartender theorizes. Soon, seven men in total exit both vehicles. Two visibly hurt with injuries and all of them wearing matching costumes that consists of a robe-like top folded shut with a black turtleneck shirt underneath, the former, as well as their pants are held in place by a sash belt tied around their waists. Cloth pants leading down to a pair of shin high boots can be seen on their lower bodies. On their heads, each of them is wearing a helmet that takes after the design of a beetle, evident by the antlers that extend from the front lobe region. All of it mostly a dark-ish shade of blue with bits of black tying in.