The man was dreading every step he took to the small, sleazy tavern. The wooden walls creaked and groaned as his boots crunched the snow beneath him. His garbs were less regal than he was used to, just a simple robe and chainmail under it. Despite the frigid temperature, the sounds of high energy melted through the walls of the tavern, all either merry or too intoxicated to comprehend. The street was empty, it being well past midnight, which he was thankful for. He was far too used to this situation, but he still preferred to keep it out of the public's eye best he could.

"Get your hands offa me!" the man heard a familiar voice scream. It still held the same raspy, gravel tone that belonged more to an animal than a person. The voice clearly sounded drunk, overly aggressive and-

The man's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden lightning bolt flying from the door of the tavern, tearing the heavy wooden entrance off of its hinges and hurtling towards him. He quickly dodged out of the way, watching as it exploded into splinters against the clothing shop across the street.

"Oh Gods, he brought a spellbook with him."

He should have expected it. All he knew then was that he needed to be more careful than he liked.

The stampeding crowd of bar patrons nearly crushed the man, who gently pushed his way into the bar. There were still enough spectators to indicate the center of the drama. Which the man was thankful for as the smoke in the building was so thick a knife could not cut through it. Simple wooden chairs were flung around like toys by the source of the disturbance, a small child stumbling around, clutching a spellbook and a sword.

The small person's face was so red that he looked like a cherry. The scowl he wore was enough to send a chill down its victim's face. The same, graveled voice came from the purple-robed child, and the vocabulary could only be described as vulgar. Obscenities flew from his mouth freely as he flung lightning like candy, which embarrassed the stranger.

"What seems to be the problem here?" the stranger asked, removing his hood to reveal a young, handsome, blue-haired man. His voice idealized leadership alone. A voice that any one would follow into Hell itself without any regret.

"M-Milord!" the bar tender, the victim of the smaller one's abuse, stammered out as he recognized the man. "Ain't nothin' to wurry ova'," his accent was thick enough to confuse even the hardest of intellectuals, "Jus' go' a brat 'ere talkin' 'bout fhings he don' know nofhin 'bout."

"That is true!" the intoxicated, agitated one shouted.

"He ain't go' no respect!"

"That is also true!"

The stranger looked down at the drunken maniac, only enraging the smaller one further.

"Why are you doing this, Robin?" the stranger asked, ashamed to see the scene before him.

"Why!?" the one called Robin shouted, his eyes white with rage. "Because this asshole called me 'vermin'! A 'stupid kid'! Well I never asked to be made!" Robin's teeth grit as he glared daggers at the bartender. "I never asked to be ripped apart and put back together like some kinda... some kinda monster!" He readied his spell book, his hand glowing a threatening yellow. "Well let's see what ten-thousand volts will do to that fat, melon head of yours!"

"Robin!" the stranger shouted, coming between the fat bartender and Robin. "One million gold! What kind of idiot would ruin that over a bar brawl?"

Robin growled, pondering the words he heard. After a few seconds that felt like centuries, he threw the spellbook against the wall, making a loud crack as it impacted. He looked directly into the stranger's eyes, pure malice in the small pupils.

"Fine," Robin said, tolerating his choice, but still in a berserker mood, "but after I get my money, I can't guarantee that I won't kill every last one of you."

Robin stumbled his way out of the tavern, dragging his sword lazily behind him, and tripping over his robe every few steps.

"Lord Chrom?" the bartender asked, wiping his sweaty palms on his tattered pants, "Who was that kid?"

Chrom gave a groan, handing the fat man a few gold coins for his trouble.

"He's my tactician..."

A/N

This is Mastodon, and I feel good!

All I'm gonna say is that life has been pretty good so far! No context. Invent it yourselves, children!

But you may notice how Robin quotes Guardians of the Galaxy a lot. That is because I watched that movie again yesterday, and I decided to make a new thing (I know, shut up) where Robin was similar to Rocket from that movie. So expect a loud, angry, crazy Robin instead of blank slate one. Why? I'm bored. Why am I not working on my other stuff? GIVE IT TIME! They're coming!

This was just a fun little distraction. I am certainly gonna update this rarely, if ever, because I just had this idea out of the blue. I literally just started typing what came to mind. Until next time, remember this: if you try out for a play, and are a good actor, but cannot sing, you will not get a speaking role. :I