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[sub][color=b22222]TITUS “BLITZ” PHOENIX[/color]   [color=eee8aa]—[/color]   [color=908070]Embergate - Some Pub[/color]   [color=eee8aa]—[/color]   [color=908070]Late Night (1-2AM)[/color]   [color=eee8aa]—[/color] [color=cd5c5c]FLASHBACK[/color] [color=cecece]—[/color][@metanoia][/sub][hr]

[color=908070][color=b22222]”And then I said: listen here, you fucking twit, next time you talk shit about my crew, prepare to back it up.”[/color] 

Titus, as loud, not to mention hammered, as ever, he was  past the point of losing count of the amount of shots of [u]Sourberry Spirit[/u] he had downed since being at whatever shitty pub or bar or whatever-the-fuck-it-was he was at. It was one of those run-down, barely-kept-up-with-the-maintenance establishments. It was shitty and on the side of Embergate that not many without a real set of stones on them vnetured to. The side that someone who was part of the UDF probably shouldn’t go to. Organized crime, murderers, people who would stab you with a good ole taste of home if you look at htem funny -- a good ole Lincentia Ore Shiv. Maybe that’s why he liked it here. It was grimier than he remembered, but the criminal underbelly of Embergate had that flavor of demolished civility that Lincentia had.

Laughing it up with a few guys at the bar, he downed another shot. [color=b22222]“So that’s the story about how some fuckwad almost twice my size got his ass handed to him by The Blitz!”[/color] He cackled himself not only into a cough from the sourness of the shot, but he bumped into someone. Now, on any given day, this wouldn’t be so bad, but this particular someone, a local legend among those in this particular neighborhood, didn’t take too kindly to being disrespected.

But of course, as it always was with Titus, he shrugged it off, not bothering to apologize to [url=https://i.pinimg.com/originals/9a/0e/6c/9a0e6cff14773a72157913dd0cfabf21.jpg]Marcus Hellhound[/url] (his real name) -- or so Titus remembering hearing a few times over the years. He was a tall and muscular man. Titus was tall and had a solid mass of muscle, but he was a beast of a man. A real behemoth of a man with a nasty temper but a unique honor code. Two times of disrespecting him were the limit.

And as he went to stand up, stumbling once again into Marcus, that’s what set him off. It wasn’t an assault, but the man stood up and the height difference -- at least six inches in favor of the Hellhound -- made it more than an easy feat for him to stop a walking, stumbling Titus. Reaching for his shoulder, Blitz didn’t have time to properly react and now he was face to chin with the behemoth.

“And where are you going, little man?” Hellhound’s voice was distorted just like the scars on his face. It held tones of what felt like nobility or some fancy-ass aristocrat, now it was husky and a tone that Titus, even in a sober state, couldn’t understand.

[color=b22222]“Huh? The fuck you say?”[/color] Titus raised a disinterested brow at the man that towered over him by nearly a whole head. [color=b22222]“Do I even know you, friend?”[/color]

The giant shook his head. “You disrespected me. Twice.”

[color=b22222]“Did I now?”[/color] He still looked at him. Unphased. [color=b22222]“I think I’d remmeber that, bucko. See, a face like yours is way too easy to make fun of. I bet we could have a [i]lot[/i] of fun.”[/color]

Hellhound’s eye twitched. And not the eye unscarred but the one with the fucked up appearance.

Had he been sober, maybe what happened next could have been avoided, but Titus started to bust out laughing. [color=b22222]“Oh man, that’s gotta be tough. You trying to be all serious. Mr. Hellhound of Embergate, right? But then you’re over here tweaking out like you need a fix or something. Seriously, how can I disrespect you when your own face does that for ya--”[/color]

Before he could finish that thought, Hellhound pounced, throwing a straight right hook from the depths he was named for. Titus didn’t bother dodging and took the hit right in the jaw. Of course, he was sent staggering against the wall and Hellhound lept forward, grabbing Titus by the shirt with one hand and repeatedly wailing away on his face.

One punch, two punch, four punch, six punch, ten…

And yet, Titus remained unphased. Unaffected. Unbothered. Scars and scrapes were all over his handsome mug, but in his eyes, there was something almost sinister in them. A will that was unbroken to the point that he started to spook the Hellhound. The man backed away, letting him go. In response, Titus spat out the blood in his mouth, wiping it with his hand. Smirking, he merely said. [color=b22222]“Not bad, Scarface. Really, you almost punch harder than my instructor. Gotta hand it to ya. I thought you weren’t gonna go for it, but you did. And I’m proud of you.”[/color]

Hellhound stared at Titus, stepping back slowly. 

[color=b22222]“But now it’s my turn.”[/color]

There was a glow at his feet and the man flew from the wall and gave Hellhound all but one knee to the face that sent him flying to the other side of the room, cracking through the wall as half of his body was hanging out of the pub while the other half (in this case the bottom half) was still inside. 

Grimacing at the sight of the state of Hellhound, he partially frowned, looking at the bartender who had been forced to witness everything unfold in silence. The locals were afraid of Hellhound but now they would be afraid of Titus. [color=b22222]“Sorry bout that bud!”[/color] Titus called out to Hellhound, who only groaned in response. [color=b22222]“Didn’t mean to knock you out that fast. Was really hoping to get some energy out before tomorrow.”[/color] He whined as he paid for the damages and left the pub.

Yeah, tomorrow. Tomorrow he no longer was part of the WarDiv. As much as he loved and cherished his time spent there, tomorrow he would officially be part of a special task force. On one hand, he was excited but he was going to miss the simple directives typically given in the Warfare Division.

Oh well, a matter to think about when it actually arrived. For now, Titus had to remember just where the fuck his motel was![/color]

[hr][sub][color=b22222]TITUS "BLITZ" PHOENIX[/color]   [color=eee8aa]—[/color]   [color=908070]UDF: Cetra East Command (Briefing Room) → Armory → Surface[/color]   [color=cecece]—[/color]   [color=908070]8:00AM[/color]   [color=eee8aa]—[/color] [@metanoia][/sub][hr]

[color=908070]As soon as he woke up, Titus knew drinking last night may have been a mistake. And maybe picking a fight with Hellhound wasn’t the best idea he had in recent memory, but thinking back on it, he had no regrets. First off, that pub -- whatever its name was -- had the best Sourberry Spirit he’s tried in a long ass time. It may have even been better than the crap he had in Bend a few months back. God that shit was more than sour - it was nearly spoiled (keyword nearly because Titus still got hammered off of it).

He spent most of the train ride catching up on sleep. Since he didn’t get back to his motel until a little after 2 and wasn’t unconscious until thirty minutes after the fact, he was exhausted. Plus the hangover sourberry spirit always gave someone who drank a little too much was the worst feeling to experience. But he endured. And got some breakfast before the train arrived at East Command. It wasn’t anything fancy. He didn’t have many credits to his name after spending most of it in Embergate, but he had enough for a simple spread of eggs, toast, and a couple of pork sausage links.

Then came the mission briefing and what a shit show that was.

It began with the genuine heartbreak that Titus felt when General McMahan explained that the one and only Bahamut was MIA. [color=b22222]“Say it isn’t so…”[/color] He muttered lowly.

Titus didn’t have what you might call a personal relationship with the great Bahamut -- or at least not as well-known one that he had with a certain Garuda among the group, but he had his own attachment to him. Or maybe the accurate way to describe their relationship was a warrior respecting a fellow warrior’s strength. It’s true that Titus never had any direct missions with Bahamut personally or with him leading the charge. There have been cases where they’ve crossed paths in the general sense, but what they did have was off-the-clock sparring sessions.  Their sparring matches were pretty much full-on fights with no added powers but their ability to physically kick ass. Titus took a lot of pride in his ability to fight, but Bahamut was on a different level. Compared to him, Blitz was a novice.

That’s right. Despite all of his loud and proud proclamations of how much ass he has kicked, in every battle of Blitz vs Bahamut, Titus has never won a single fight. Usually that would send him into a red state of mind, but with Benjamin, it was never the case. Titus respected the hell out of him, so when General McMahan said was MIA or rather they lost communication with him, Titus took it personally.

[color=b22222]“We’ll find him. Bastard owes me our weekly sparring match.”[/color]

After the briefing and a little entertainment show was done (at the expense of known history between Emalia and Benjamin), Titus did something that many who knew the name of Titus Phoenix (AKA Blitz) seldom did: he went about his business quietly. In normal cases, he would say something about poor Garuda, but he wasn't in [i]that[/i] kind of mood. He was solely fixated on the mission at hand. He made his way to the armory, put on his  S.W.A.R.G-issued gear with the addition of his greaves and gauntlets that were tailor-made for his fighting style specifically, got his bag, and made his way topside, hitching a ride on one of the personnel gunships.

Titus remained focused. Any and all thoughts he had right now, if nothing else, were solely focused on the mission. When they got the great Bahamut back, then he would relax. Until then, he was all business.[/color]

[hr]
[color=goldenrod][b]Plot Summary[/b][hr]
After getting hammered in Embergate, which included getting into a fight with a local thug, Titus woke up with a hangover and a killer headache. He caught the train that departed from Embergate to East Command and kept mostly to himself, catching up on whatever sleep he could. When the train arrived and the mission briefing started, he remained uncharacteristically quiet due to Benjamin Regardie, someone he has immense respect for as a fellow warrior and someone he regularly spars with, going missing/lost communication with TPTB 72 hours ago. Titus became a man of pure focus from then on, no wanting to dick around and give his entire being and any and all energy he could spare to the mission.[/color]

[color=darkorchid][u]L O R E[/u][hr]
Sourberry Spirit - An aged mead native to Lincentia and is considered to be the national alcoholic beverage of the nation. Known for its sour, tart, and sweet notes, it is often preferred to be consumed either as a shot or combined with a sweet pop. It is made from sourberries, a round berry gold in color that grows only in Lincentia but has since been mass-produced. It has an irl comparison (taste wise) to raspberries and strawberries with the acidic punch of lemon. The alcohol potency is high and can get a person quite wasted if they're not careful.[/color]
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