the local hell bar part 1

from /hhg/ Helluva Hotel general #677
-----
How about a anon insert where you're related to a main character, you're either some bum off the street that just wants to get by in life who bumps into one of the main cast
Or you're the fifth son of some noble house that's BARELY holding onto its noble status
-
We have like 20 characters that are either a) nobodies, b) just random people with some level of firearms training and mediocre powers, or c) natural-disaster-in-waiting-tier monsters who are just reluctant to snap.
Fking pick and choose: https://pastebin.com/nCp3GFGM
-
sht, that gives me an idea.
>it's an average day at the local hell bar
>lizardmen, bugmen, hellhounds and beasts of every size and shape are getting drinks from a dark red octopus behind the bar
>a group of evil looking fellows, one of who has a six shooter sticking out of his chest, finishing up their game of pool
>in the corner, a large cat with wings is playing a card game with some other demons
>he's clearly cheating, cards hang out of his sleeves,
>but no one seems to care as he wins every hand and continues to drink cheap booze
>at the bar sits a small man in a suit with a gas mask for a face, it's Tom Trench
>he's still singed from the incident with Charlie and Katie earlier that day
>the octopus slides over to him, looking about as sympathetic as an octopus in hell can
{'ill that be anotha one, Tom?}
>the TV above him is rerunning the incident with Charlie and Katie in the news room
Yeah, and turn that shit off, I don't need any reminding of today.
{Aye, sorry mate.}
>the octopus turns around with a squishing noise and turns the channel over to some dumb old cartoon
>using his other arms, he makes the ccktail behind his back while turning back around to look at Tom
{Bloody 'elle, she sure made a fokin mess of the studio t'day.}
>the octopus finishes making the ccktail and hands it to trench, who takes a long sip of it before slamming it down on the bar and resting his head in his hands
Charlie is one thing, but I have to deal with Katie every day. I can't take this, and neither can my crotch...
{Heheh, yeah. For an 'ole btch who've neva seen a day a bat-le, she puts up one 'elle ov a foight. Nuttin' like jutland, I tell you what}
-
>tom takes another long sip of his drink and looks at the barkeep quizzically
You were at Jutland?
>the octopus gives a half smile and pulls out a crude hand-made model of a warship out of his mass of tentacles
{'Ole HMS Queen Marry. We rode into bat-le gainst the Boche fleet, thirty-first of May 1914. Indefatigable went up first, like a bloody firework after a few hits at maximum range. Then we took one or two salvos and both of the magazines blew right up. I was trapped in the mess closet, walls of steel on all sides.. all of the wat-a rushin in, even a bloody octopus... before i knew it I passed out, an here I am today mate.}
>the octopus looks at the model wistfully, but then starts to turn black while squeezing the model in his tentacle
{Fockin' Admiral Beatty... he led us into that deathtrap, I tell ya.}
>the octopus switches to a mocking tone, while continuing to crush the model boat in his tentacle
{ThErE sEeMs To Be SoMeThInG wRoNg with OUR BLOODY SHIP TODAY!}
>tom shrinks into his seat, cowering away from the angry bartender
>The octopus notices Tom's fear and turns back to his normal shade of red, laughing a little
{Sorry if I scared ya mate... 'ole habits 'an all.}
-
>tom carefully reaches for his drink again but the door to the bar slams open violently
>the demons and damned souls quiet down and turn to look at the door
>the figure in the doorway seems almost normal compared to most demons, save for the orange glow beneath his olive-gray flight suit and helmet
>he shuffles in, limping his way towards the bar. embers fall out of his pants and sleeves as he walks. every step seems to be a herculean effort for him
>his face is obscured by a flight helmet, visor, and oxygen mask, all of which seem to be melted to his face.
>Tom spins around in his chair to face the newcomer, with the octopus peaking around from behind him. He whispers to the bartender,
Who's this guy?
{ah, 'him... 'he's a bit ov an odd one, he is. Never talks much, just comes in an 'elps 'imself. Always pays well, even though 'is quid is always burnin...}
>tom turns his head and looks at the bartender, his round eyes showing interest
Does he have a name?
{Some call 'im the king of the skies for whateva reason, though 'is patch says something like "Galm" or "Hitman..." Don't call 'im Crimson or Yellow, despite the flames an 'all, he gets pissed off at those... I take to callin' 'im trigga, cause so many things seem ta trigga' 'im.
>the man continues to slowly make his way toward the bar, now grabbing his shoulder in pain. His labored breathing was now audible to everyone in the bar, who have since lost interest in this tortured soul and gone back about their business.
{'Parently he was a pilot, but heaven if I know who he flew for. I bet you he killed a bunch-a folk to end up like that down 'ere.}
>the pilot finally makes his way to the bar and takes a seat next to tom

I'm tired as sht, and will continue after I wake up later. Goodnight /hhg/.
-
Impressive stuff, look forward to seeing more