Author's Note: Sorry for the many days of silence. Life has been busy, getting a car and sorting work and so on. I wrote this chapter already to post but I forgot to save and lost a whole chapter! It was such a hard chapter to write too. Anyway, I just wanted to thank everyone for their amazing comments and support. Especially the compliments where I write like Derek and it feels like an accurate continuation of the stories, whoa, it makes me really, really happy to hear that. Anyway I'm still hoping to post up two chapters to catch up and please comment if you enjoy! Thanks

Chapter 3

The Man with the Forgettable Face.

Since Vaurien Scapegrace returned into his own body, the amount of drinkers who went to his pub considerably lessened. Not surprising since his last body was a young and attractive woman. Scapegrace was glad. He was happy not to have men at the bar looking at places he didn't want looked at. He had gained a higher respect for the opposite sex from that point on; it was not a pleasant experience.

Nowadays the pub was mostly empty, apart from the odd Roarhaven new comers, who had not heard the reputation of Scapegrace's pub, who would immediately step in and out again once they saw the two faces of its proprietors, Scapegrace, with his nose in danger of falling off (again) and Thrasher, who would overreact each time a person came in and frighten the poor souls away. Scapegrace observed the pub from the bar. The dated jukebox was playing 'Make Me Smile' by Steve Harley and the Cockney Rebels but the room was sombre. Sitting in thee corner with a full pint of beer in front of him was a regular who proceeded to mumble to himself about something that had happened 150 years before. Scapegrace tried to recall what it was, something about his wife being eaten by a giant bat? Scapegrace never asked further, nor did he care.

On the other side of the room a group of four sat, whispering away. They were a few Sanctuary officials who used the quiet bar for a place to hold discreet meetings but they weren't high enough in power to discuss anything too important or confidential so Scapegrace left them to it.

Though the business wasn't much of a success Scapegrace wasn't bothered. He had owned the pub for years and now he finally felt like it was home, though he would never admit it to Thrasher and Clarabelle. Scapegrace turned away from watching the dull tables and noticed Thrasher and Clarabelle staring at each other, their cheeks bloated out and their lips struggling. Clarabelle's face was turning the same shade of blue of the colour of her hair (she changed it regularly) and Scapegrace sighed, waiting for them to continue their pathetic challenge and stepped towards them, sighing.

"Clarabelle, you do know Thrasher doesn't breath right? He's already dead."

Determined Clarabelle shook her head, she mumbled something through her tight close lips.

"Thrasher, you dimwit, stop cheating!" Scapegrace stomped his foot very hard on Thrasher toes and Thrasher opened his mouth and groaned. "Ow, Vaurien, that hurt!"

"How many times do I have to repeat myself? Don't call me Vaurien!" Scapegrace demanded upon deaf ears.

"AHA! "Clarabelle cried in triumph. She took a few gasps to get her breathe back. "I won, so that's 3 to you, and 5 to me!"

Thrasher shrugged and instead of moaning he lifted his right hand to offer a high five, and Clarabelle gladly returned it.

"I don't get the point." Scapegrace began, looking between the two of them. "You compete against each other and yet there are no competitive feelings or hostility between you. Why bother?"

"It's about the taking part, Scappey, not the winning." Clarabelle cheerfully replied.

Thrasher stood thinking for a moment; Scapegrace knew he was thinking hard, Thrasher made that strained; 'dying for the loo' face and Scapegrace willed himself some patience.

"What about..." Thrasher began, and he lifted his left fist in a pose and gestured to it, "An arm wrestle?"

Scapegrace stared long and his shoulders sagged. Clarabelle giggled. "Oh this is easy. I beat Gerald at this."

Scapegrace didn't seem to have must to lose out of it so he decided to humour Clarabelle and took Thrasher's hand in his right.

"If I win, you stop calling me Vaurien and call me by 'Master.' Got it?"

"How about I call you, Scappey, like Clarabelle?" Thrasher asked?

"No! Only Clarabelle can. I don't mind her calling me that."

Scapegrace caught Clarabelle smiling to that over Thrasher's shoulder, distracting him as Thrasher slammed his left hand into his and hit his hand on the bar hard.

He yelled in pain. Though their brains were practically vegetables they could still feel pain, annoyingly.

"You lose, Vaurien!" Thrasher laughed.

"I wasn't ready!"

Clarabelle came between them, a hand on each of their shoulders. "I'm afraid that was valid, sorry Scappey." She tilted her head sympathetically then ruffled their hair on top of their heads.

Scapegrace glared and stormed off, defeated.

Later in the day it was just him and Thrasher tending to the bar as Clarabelle continued her day working in the Medical Bay of the Sanctuary. There wasn't much to be done, and the hours went by slowly until the clock hit seven in the evening. Thrasher was brushing the floor and Scapegrace wiped the bar down with a cloth when the bell hanging over the door chimed.

Business.

Thrasher dropped the brush onto the floor and the sound echoed throughout the bar and Scapegrace looked up, finding Thrasher stood rigidly, his arms tight by his side, his eyes glazed over, staring at nothing. Scapegrace frowned and turned to face the tall dark figure in the middle of the room, grabbing a pool cue next to him from a corner and gripped it.

"What are you doing to Thrasher?" Scapegrace demanded. If his voice hadn't break in the middle of the sentence, Scapegrace would've sounded mildly dominant, but the stranger just stepped forward and helped to himself down at a stool.

The man had a face that was unremarkable, a face that you couldn't remember the moment it left the room. Even as Scapegrace stared at his features blurred and twisted. He felt the man's magic had something to do with it.

"Do you have a Binding Bier?" The man simply asked. He had a thick German accent.

Scapegrace hesitated, let go on the cue and approached the bar. "I don't think I have that. Sorry."

"Hmm," The man replied. Thrasher was still, as if on the spot, and Scapegrace waited for the man to response, his body tense.

"Shame. I have an acquired taste for that bottle. Being from Germany, the first country to brew the common beer, let's just say I am fussy about my beverage."

"I didn't know Germans created beer." Scapegrace said, trying to sound casual.

"You're the Landlord, are you, no?" The man pointed quickly. "You should know such things!"

Scapegrace backed away and disguised the fear induced noise from his throat with a chuckle. "Oh, of course! Erm…" He quickly scanned through his options. "Is Budweiser alright?"

That brand sounded German…

The man sighed, "Very well. I haven't got all day to educate you anyhow." He impatiently gestured for Scapegrace to pull the pint and Scapegrace hurried, spilling foam all over the bar.

"I will return you your friend once I have the information I came for." With the drink untouched before him he kneeled forward and Scapegrace was forced to sit down closer to hear him.

"What information? I'm just a pub owner, I have only two friends in my life and I don't do anything."

"But you are the King of the Dead, are you not?" The German responded, as if the title meant so much to him.

"Look, if this is about Necropolis I don't know much about the place. I came, I went, I got a crown for my troubles but other than that-"

THUD

The German hit the bar with his fist and even the thick wood showed a small dent from the impact. Scapegrace gulped. He was being threatened.

"Yes, I am the King of the Dead, what do you want from me?"

The German smiled cruelly, then Scapegrace was treated to the now unforgettable sharp, filed teeth underneath.

"Finally, we are getting somewhere."

Scapegrace woke up, his head on the bar to the tune of 'Common People' by Pulp playing on the jukebox. His head throbbed and he lifted it up and saw Thrasher whistling away to the song, dancing a bit to the song with the broom as though it was a lover. Scapegrace frowned and checked the time.

It was thirty past seven in the evening.

For some reason there was an empty pint glass in front of it, recently drunk. It hadn't been there before, had it?

"I'm sure it was only seven o'clock just now?" He remarked, rubbing at his aching temples.

"You fell asleep, Vaurien, and I guess dancing to the music took the time away for me too." He suggested.

Scapegrace shrugged and put it behind him. He observed Thrasher's work and pointed to a corner.

"You missed a spot!"

Author's Note: Oh I am so sorry if this chapter is not the best, having been absent for a while it took me a while to write this chapter and though it's going where I want it to I don't know if I portrayed the characters right here. Anyway, please let me know what you think and any improvements I should make. Hope this was worth the wait! P.S. the music featured in this chapter was just random stuff that came on in shuffle when I was writing it.