An Interesting Day

(The events of this story take place only a few hours after Argus' father's funeral, several years before the events of "The 'Verse". In this story, Argus is exposed to his new abilities for the first time, though he doesn't realize it.)

The day had passed slowly for Argus. His father had insisted on a sunrise funeral service in his will. How he'd managed to secure himself a plot overlooking Serenity Valley, Argus would never know. But whatever the case, it had been a peaceful ceremony. The stone marking the final resting place of Marshall Marcus Wolfe rested atop a ridge overlooking the valley, and as the sun rose, it had seemed to hover at the apex of the grave marker to shine as a beacon from a lighthouse.

Argus shook his head to banish the thoughts as he walked through town. As touching as the funeral had been, it was the last thing he wanted to think about. And what better way to banish unwanted thoughts than to down a few at the local watering hole. The town was fairly small, which meant that the bar was an easy walk. And an easy walk meant less time for Argus' mind to wander to his father's death yet again. Now if only the little green imps would just quit trying to trip him.

Little green imps?

Argus froze. Not for fear of stepping on the little fellows, but out of shock that they were even there. But the moment he focused his attention on them, they were gone. Looking up and down the street, he saw no sign of the critters, and there was no one else around for him to ask about them. "Must be the stress," he muttered to no one in particular, and continued on to the bar.

The Horse's Ass was not exactly what you'd call seedy, though it wouldn't have taken much for it to fall to that level. The front of the building was worn and unprepossessing. A pair of holographic windows, a necessity for all such establishments these days, sat in the face of the bar like a pair of dark eyes letting you view the handful of patrons that were there at this time of day. The door, in contrast to the windows was made of sturdy steel alloys, thick enough to keep stray bullets or other projectiles either in or out, and heavy enough that even men who spent too much time in the gym would have to put some small effort into its opening. As Argus was not one of these mountainous men, he braced himself for the effort as he put his weight into shoving the door aside... and fell.

With the lack of a door to keep him from stumbling, Argus fell into the entry to the dimly lit bar with a thud. No one had ever accused him of being slow, and this was no different. Had the shock not been so total, he may have simply stumbled and walked on as though he'd simply caught his foot on a loose floorboard. As it was, he shoved himself up from the floor as quickly as he could, brushed the dust from the front of his duster, and glared around the sparsely occupied room, daring anyone to say something. None accepted the silent challenge, and he stepped up to the bar, carefully seating himself in one of the many unoccupied stools.

"You alright friend?" Argus jumped a bit as the voice came seemingly out of nowhere. Further investigation, however, proved that it had been the sympathetic bartender that had asked the question. Argus had hoped his little incident at the door had gone unnoticed, but the curious look on the other man's face told him it hadn't. "You look a might jumpy. There something I can get you?" the bartender went on, doing his best to act as though he didn't know what had happened and failing miserably.

"It's just been a rough morning. A scotch'll be fine." Argus answered his questions in order, then took a moment to look around the bar at the patrons sitting at various tables. None were remarkable, except for their early presence at a bar. But then, he supposed, he could easily include himself in that category. The only other person sitting at the bar was an older man, and by the looks of him, he'd been very good friends with the bottle for a long while. He seemed to be staring off into space at who knew what, and Argus left him be, looking down at the bar to ponder his own life.

"Here you go friend." The bartender had returned after only a few moments with Argus drink and set it in front of him. Argus took a moment to look into the amber liquid before lifting the glass to take a sip. Unfortunately, not all of the liquid made it into his mouth, as somehow, the glass seemed to spring a leak, and scotch dribbled down the front of Argus shirt.

"What the..." was all he could get out as he looked up from his drink to the helpful bartender, and saw something he knew he shouldn't be. The man, or what Argus had thought was a man, was now covered completely in what looked like red scales. A trio of red, blood soaked horns had somehow erupted from his head and scarlet flames danced where his simply cut brown hair had been only a few moments earlier. Argus couldn't keep his eyes from widening in horror at the sight, and turned to see if anyone else had noticed. Those seated at tables seemed to take no notice, as absorbed as they were in their own issues and drinks, but the drunkard beside him seemed to be focused on the same thing. But by the time Argus turned his gaze back to the bartender, he had returned to his old, seemingly normal self.

"What in the hell do you think you're playing at?" Argus bellowed, the notion that this upstart of a bartender was somehow playing an elaborate trick on him immediately setting off his short temper."This how you treat all your paying customers? Or just a lucky few?"

"Look friend, I don't have a clue what you're talking about." The bartender looked at Argus with what he thought just had to be feigned innocence. And while he couldn't quite hide his amusement at the earlier blunder at the door, he seemed to have improved his poker face in the minutes that had passed. "Are you sure you're doing alright? Maybe you had a worse spill than you thought?" The bartender's look was nothing if not sympathetic, but that only made things worse.

"Don't 'friend' me! I know you're pulling something on me. First the door, then the dribble cup, and now you make me think you look like some sort of horror monster!!" Argus voice had risen noticeably enough that the remainder of the patrons had begun to look up from their tables, to see what was causing such a commotion.

"Look mister, I ain't done nothing to you. Sounds to me like you got your own issues." The bartender tried to keep his voice as neutral as he could, even as he backed away from the bar and it's furious occupant.

"Didn't do nothing! You sure as hell did something! You and maybe some buddy of yours! Just talk to this fellow over here. He saw the same thing I did." Argus new he had to sound desperate to be calling on someone he knew was a drunk to bear witness for him, but it was all he could come up with to prove he wasn't just seeing things.

The bartender looked over at the drunk in question with a wry gaze, but decided to humor his furious patron. "Carl. Did you see what this man was talking about?"

The drunk seemed to come out of his haze for another moment as he thought about the question. "Sure did. It was a right scarey sight too. The girls was hiding behind me the whole time." The bum motioned to the side away from the bartender, as if to point out the girls in question, but there was no one there, and Argus felt his temper flare even more.

"So he's a drunk, he still saw... whooaAAA!!!!" It was at that instant that the stool which had been supporting Argus as he raged at the bartender seemed to no longer be there, and Argus found himself going ass over teakettle to the floor. The bartender looked over the bar at Argus, giving him the same look he'd given hundreds of others he'd seen in similar conditions.

"Alright mister. I didn't think nothing of what happened at the door, but looks to me you're already way past drunk. I'm cutting you off and getting you a cab."

"Cutting me off!?! I didn't barely get a sip! And that because of your stupid little dribble cup!" Argus shoved himself back to his feet, glaring daggers at the offensive stool and wondering where the hell the bartender's accomplice must have run off to.

"Look. I don't need no trouble. Just wait here a minute and I'll have someone here to pick you up."

"Like hell you are! I am NOT drunk. For whatever reason, you and your buddies here," Argus motioned around the room, hoping to catch someone looking guilty as he did, "decided to get a joke or two at my expense. And let me tell you, numbnuts, you sure picked the wrong man to mess with." Pulling back one side of his jacket, Argus let the light glint briefly off his badge, stepping away from the bar.

"I don't know what you're talking about. And I sure would never mess with anyone in my bar, much less the law. You gotta believe me." The bartender had already hit the button under the bar which sent a summons to a nearby cab service, and was now putting as much space behind him and Argus. "But whatever you do, you still have to pay for the drink."

Argus stopped in his tracks and rifled through his pockets, yanking out a cred stick and jamming it into the reader without a word. A moment later, a confirming beep sounded, Argus tugged the stick free and shoved it back into a pocket.

"Don't even think you're getting a tip."

The bartender just stood silently and watched as the enraged Marshall turned and walked to the door. Opening the door carefully, in case there were any more tricks, Argus stormed out and headed elsewhere to contemplate the day. As he left, the bartender heard another roared explanation, and just shook his head.

"GET THE HELL OFF ME YOU DAMN LITTLE IMPS!!!!!"