A/N: I don't own TF2. Only own my OC.
The shatter of glass was heard as a bottle of rum was smashed against a drunken patron's head. The contents spilled all over him, shards of the bottle imbedded in his cranium. His head then hit the counter in front of him and he slumped to the ground, bleeding.
"Oooow, why didya do that missy?" he slurred out. "I only wanted to hug yah,"
"Touch me and I'm gonna castrate yah!" said the other figure holding the now broken bottle. She had the look of death in her brown eyes.
The young woman had long black hair that was tied in a ponytail, which was sticking out from the back of a blue and red colored baseball cap. She wore a slightly, faded blue shirt with one sleeve torn off. She had brown colored jean shorts, and black sneakers. On her waist was a holster that held a revolver.
"Now we don't hafta be so mean- YEEEOOW!" the man suddenly screamed in pain. He put his hand back on the counter only to have the smashed bottle come down on it, pinning him to the counter.
"Now hear me out, bilge rat," she hissed at him. "You've been disorderly for the past three hours, and I've asked you to leave for the umpteenth time. If you don't leave now, I'm going to put you in a coma that you will NEVER wake up from, got it?"
The man nodded quickly. She yanked the bottle out of his hand, and the man scurried away into the darkness of the night.
"Fucking drunks…" she mumbled under her breath as she went to clean up the mess.
The other bar patrons had ignored the confrontation. In fact, they were used to it. Every night there was at least one drunk that pushed the bartender too far and ended up getting beat up badly by her. Bikers, tough guys, cowboys, criminals, all fell to the bartender no matter what.
The Waterhole was known for having some of the best booze in the town of Teufort, and became quite popular after the residences heard word of it. Besides having the best beer, the bar was also noticeable for its no-nonsense owner and bartender, Willow.
Most people thought it was strange having a woman run a bar, considering the dangers to it. But after seeing her quickly take down two large fellows who wouldn't pay for their drinks, they quickly reconsidered.
When Willow finished sweeping up the glass on the floor and countertop, a man entered the bar.
"Sup, Frank," she said. "The usual?"
Frank nodded as he got out a five-dollar bill. Willow slid him a bottle of beer. Basically, ordering at the Waterhole was simple, no money, and no booze.
"How much today?" he asked her.
"Only one so far," she replied as she used her arm to wipe the sweat off her face. "I'm really hoping for one day that there are none,"
Frank chuckled. "So you hope,"
She leaned against the wall that held some of the spirits used for other drinks, and looked at a clock.
8:37
"If nothing happens within two hours, then everything will be all right," she thought.
It would appear she spoke too soon, as a commotion started outside.
"Or not," she got up and walked towards the front to see what was happening outside.
She didn't have to walk far as a fight between two men spilled inside the bar. Other bar customers quickly moved out of the way so they wouldn't get sucked into the bartender's wrath.
Willow quickly jumped into the fight and when the dust settled, she had the two fighters in a headlock under each arm. One had a helmet covering his entire head, while the other had a black beanie on. Both men were visibly tired and beaten. What was interesting was they were wearing similar, red uniforms.
"Now what in the world were you two thinking by taking your little scuffle in here?"
The only reply the men gave to her was only snoring; both of them fell asleep due to exhaustion. Rolling her eyes, she dropped the two to the floor.
Willow was considering what to do with them when a man with hardhat and a similar red uniform opened the doors of the bar.
"I found the two!" he shouted outside. He walked over to Willow, "Sorry about that ma'am," he said. "We've been looking for those two ever since they ran off,"
"Friends of yours?" she asked.
"More like co-workers," said the hardhat as he took the helmet wearing man under the shoulder. "Heavy will yah help?" as he said that a large mountain of a man wearing red came through the double doors and picked up the beanie wearing man and draped him over his shoulder.
"See yah," said the hardhat as both he and "Heavy" left the bar.
The bar was silent for a while, before everyone went back to what they were doing before.
"Who were those people?" Willow asked Frank, as she got back behind the bar counter.
"You don't know?" he said, confused. "Oh right, you're new here. Those men are mercs who work for some kind of company, Reliable Excavation and Demolitions I think?"
"RED, huh?" she thought. "No wonder why they were all wearing red,"
"They fight with similar looking men who work for Builder's League United, down at the Gravel Pits,"
"Are you people not worried about having hired guns in this close proximity to you?"
Frank shook his head. "Nah, they only fight each other. We don't bother them, they don't bother us,"
"Over what?"
"Over what now?"
"What are they fighting for?"
Frank shrugged. "Beats me, I've heard its gone over a hundred years already,"
This puzzled Willow, who fights for a hundred years for something? But she let the question slip, people started filling up the bar, and money needed to be made.
A/N: And here we go again. Another TF2 story, but this time it involves someone who doesn't interact with the mercs as much. Just trying something new, considering The Rift, and The Love of Technology sound almost the same.
Till next time,
-D.W