MacTarnahanMature

Dante

Hmm, new city, new faces, less people to recognize me, thought Dante as he hopped out of the bed of a pickup and thanked the farmer who had given him a ride on the last leg of his journey. He then walked towards downtown hoping to find a place to sleep and clean up if possible, I need a beer, he decided.

As he made his way into the first backstreet pub he could find, he noticed a silver haired man with an axe belted to his waist. It struck him as odd, even in this new city; a man with an axe was something he didn’t see often. He made his way through the smoky room up to the bar, the barkeep barely giving him a glance as he finished drying the mug in his hand. “What’ll it be laddie,” the man asked with a thick Irish accent.

“A mug of your best micro,” Dante looked around the room searching faces and looking for yellow/hazel eyes; the tell tale sign of Lycan’s. Not seeing any he turned his attention back to the barkeep, as he was filling a mug for him. 

“10 dollars,” the old man sad testily.

“Kinda pricy isn’t it, most of the time I don’t pay more than $6 a mug,” Dante said more as a statement than a question.

“You asked fer me best din’t ya boy,” the barkeep took Dante’s money and then leaned in close. “I don’t normally allow yer kind in me pub, but I can tell yer not from around here boy. I’ll give ya a chance to not piss me off. I’ve blasted a few of yer kind right in the chest cause they thought they could ruin me life’s work.”

“Hmm, that’s good to know. My ‘kind’ don’t care for me too much either. I can see you know what I am, but do you realize I have blue/yellow eyes. That’s why they don’t like me,” Dante explained to his host. He took a good, deep, savory drink of his beer; setting it down on the bar, he asked slowly, “what is that stuff?”

“Me own special brew, I named it after meself, MacTarnahan’s.” The old Irishman said with a grin, “Ya like it.”

Thinking it over, “I think,” pausing for confirmation, “This is the best beer I have ever had. I may need another mug or two after I finish this one.” He then took a rather large yet slow enough to be thoroughly enjoyed. As he sets the mug down, he has on his face what can only be described as a shit eatin’ grin. “That’s some really good stuff, MacTarnahan.”

“So how long you going to be in town for me young friend.” The old man asked in a friendly way.

“Oh I don’t know, whenever I have to leave I guess.” Finishing his beer, he asked, “can I get another one?”

“Well of course. Do you have a place to stay yet? There are a few safe places around here that Lycan’s aren’t allowed, but with a good word, they might look past your… issue,” offered the old barkeep.

“That would be amazing, but can I ask, why are you being so friendly?” Dante asked as he took a drink of the beer the old man had given him.

MacTarnahan stopped what he was doing, looked up and Dante could tell he was fighting back tears. “They killed me little girl, she’d be about your age now. She was 14 when they ripped her apart. My hatred fer yer kind runs deep, but I can tell ya’ve killed ya own kind. So that makes us friends.”

“I have killed, I don’t like to kill, but I have. At the age of 16 those of us with the lycan gene turn at midnight on our birthday, you’ll be surprised when I tell you I didn’t think I had it. Before it awakens in us our eyes are the same color without the yellow, I didn’t have hazel eyes, I shouldn’t have the gene, but at midnight I transformed into a monster unlike any other. I destroyed my home, nearly killed my mother, father, and little sister in the process. My father was proud and terrified at the same time, he is among the elder Lycan’s back in Washington, but it was he who exiled me from the race, because I wasn’t a wolf. He said I was ‘inferior,’ but the reason I wasn’t dead was because I was his son. So he left it up to the rest of our race to do his dirty work. I haven’t ever lost a fight. Mostly I just maim or incapacitate them, but when they won’t stop or they make me transform, I have no choice but to rip their heads from their shoulders.” Dante let out a sigh and downed the rest of his beer. “Another?”

The old man nodded, “I like ya boy, I’ll tell ye what. There is a place only a few blocks from here.” He handed Dante a freshly filled mug. “Take this bottle of me brew and hand it to the man who answers the door. Tell ‘im ya need a place to stay and I sent ye.” Telling Dante where to find the place, and drawing him a map on a napkin at the same time.

“Thank you so much sir.” Dante finished his beer quickly, threw down a 50, grabbed the bottle of beer, and headed to where MacTarnahan told him to go.

The End

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