There’s a strange right of passage in some societies, where one’s first venture into an establishment meant to serve hard drinks and host lively entertainment is marked with celebration. If Albert had been more social, and if he had been of the proper age, this first entrance into such a place would have been marked with celebration. As it was, he was met only with curious and menacing glances from the patrons of the pub. Graham was the only one that didn’t honestly want to try their luck in a fight with the teenager, and even then he was still fuming silently.

The stranger that had brought the two members of Death’s arbitration team to the pub, seemed to vanish as soon as they walked inside. He made a B line for the bar—which was open, despite it being closer to 10 am than noon—and began talking to the bartender as though he hadn’t just dragged two strangers along with him under duress. He hadn’t forgotten them completely, of course, as Albert saw the stranger gesture back to him and Graham amid the conversation he was having.

The sort of waiting the stranger was putting Albert through was nerve wracking. His skin started to itch like it had all simultaneously dried out and begun to peel. And though he tried to avoid looking like he was carrying out a nervous tick by scratching every little spot that felt uncomfortable on his body, there were a few particular itchy spots that were impossible to avoid. The worst one was at Albert’s shins, which he couldn’t scratch properly without bending over and he wasn’t about to do that in his current surroundings. By some miracle, Pincushion began to do figure eights around his legs again and the light pressure seemed to make the itching subside.

In the time it had taken Albert to look down at the cat spirit at his feet, the man that had brought him to the pub had vanished completely. Albert couldn’t see head nor tail of the man, which was impressive considering his size. But now there was no one standing between him and the bar tender, and that was less pleasant than being dragged into the establishment to begin with.

The man sitting behind the bar looked older, worn, and perhaps like one or both of his parents could have been an honest to goodness grizzly bear. His dark brown hair had streaks of wavy blond that reached down to his shoulders in messy tangles, and his beard matched in appearance and length. And the worst part about him, the part that made Albert really regret letting himself get pulled into the pub, were the bar tenders eyes. They were beady and small, like pinholes in an otherwise wide and intimidating face.

“Step up, you two. I haven’t got time for gawkers.” The bar tender called out. His voice harsh and steeped in a European accent that Albert didn’t recognize.

Graham was the first to move, but still proceeded with a great deal of reluctance. Albert followed close by, wary of the other dozen or so patrons occupying the pub. No one in the building looked like the kind of person that Albert could take in a fight, not by a long shot. They all seemed stronger than average, wider, and like they really wanted to prove they could win a fight. Or so their glares seemed to say.

“What’re you doing here?” The bartender addressed Graham directly. “You know you’re not welcome here.”

Albert paled at the realization that there had been more to Graham’s discomfort than just a desire to avoid conflict. It hadn’t occurred to Albert at all that this man who could have well been over a hundred years old and wasn’t physically capable of dying would probably have some bad history with people that would rather see him dead. But that seemed to be just the case. Albert could see the disdain in the bar tenders eyes, pointed mostly at Graham—though Albert also felt some pushed his way by association.

“I wasn’t about to pick a fight with one of your steroid monkeys, Travis.”Graham scoffed as he sat down at the bar. “I’d either win and you’d pitch a fit, or he’d win and I’d have to kill myself in embarrassment.”

“Oh, let’s be honest, Graham.” Travis growled. “You’ve been embarrassed for well over a century and you’d have killed yourself for it already if you could.”

“Well, you asked why I was here.”

“Well, now I know. You’re here because you’re still a twat and you always will be. And the only regret I have now is that I haven’t got a way to make you leave that won’t start a bloody war.”

“You could try asking.” Graham chuckled darkly at his own suggestion.

“Well then, would you kindly leave my pub you worthless pile of slag?”

“Of course.” Graham said with a sigh. “It’s been a pleasure, Travis. I’ll see you again in another hundred years.”

“Sure, unless your French pig of an owner puts you down first.”

Graham didn’t respond to that comment, just shrugged and bowed his head like it was a totally reasonable possibility that he’d already considered or thought was likely. Albert was ready to follow the collectors lead and exit the pub, when a hand slapped down on his shoulder and held him in place.

“Oh, come on, Trav.” A new voice said. “Maybe you’re misinterpreting Graham’s intentions. He brought fresh meat. Maybe he’d trying to make nice.”

The man who was sitting at the bar two seats to the left of Graham had spun around and stopped Albert in his tracks. His arm, easily one of the beefiest in the building, didn’t look as long as it was. But it had to have been much longer than it looked if he’d been able to reach Albert from so far away. But he looked perfectly proportional. Albert didn’t realize that that was due to the man being close to seven feet tall.

“Not today, Liam.” Travis said with a deep breath, like he was trying to keep his composure. “Not today.”

“Well, we should at least ask some questions of them before we send them off back to wherever it is they’re from to report on us.”

“We’re investigating the area, not you, Liam.” Graham hissed. “If we wanted to report on you, we’d have just bought out your little pet recruiter as a resource.”

The other man, Liam, leaned back and laughed at the comment. He didn’t seem to take it as the threat it was supposed to be. In fact, he hardly seemed uncomfortable at all.

“Aye, that makes sense, doesn’t it Travis?” Liam looked to the other man standing behind the bar and shared a nod with him. “In that case, since I trust you’re being honest with me, how about we square things up like old times and maybe there’ll even be something in it for you.”

Graham let out a deep sigh, and muttered, “You can’t hurt me, Liam. That’s not how things work anymore.”

“No, that’s fair.” Liam agreed, never letting his grin take a hit as he acknowledged his powerlessness to harm Graham. “But we can certainly have a go with your new friend.”

“That’s not happening.” Graham stood again, and really Albert was beginning to wonder why he’d sat down at all. “Let’s go, kid. They can’t stop us without starting a turf war and no one wants that.”

“Now, hold on…” Travis said with a mischievous whistle that seemed to signal all of the patrons in the pub to action. “Depending on who you’re working for now, a turf war might be profitable.”

“Oh, great.” Graham spat. “Don’t tell him who we work for, it’s not going to change anything. They want blood, we’ll have to show them some blood.”

At the mention of blood, Albert went pale. A quick glance around the room told him that not only had things gotten out of hand very quickly, they were getting much worse by the second. All of the pub patrons were on their feet and either blocking off the doors or circling around the bar. It was a clear intimidation tactic, and it was working.

Albert let himself take a quick deep breath before inserting himself back into the conversation. “Now, when you say square things up… you’re going to have to let me know what that entails before I decide if I’m going to do it or not.”

“No—”Graham started to protest, but Travis cut him off as soon as he saw the collector’s mouth open.

“It’s nothing too dangerous or complicated. We just call it a game of guts.”

“Yeah.” Liam joined in. “Sort of a rite of passage anyway if you come into our little establishment looking for something. Just prove to us that you have the guts required to be the kind of person I—we want to deal with.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea.” Albert said casually, doing his utmost to make it seem like it still wasn’t that bad. Graham seemed relieved for a moment, but then Albert kept talking. “Let’s do it.”

“Ha ha! Yes! It takes guts to play guts!” Liam cheered. “And it looks like you’ve got the bare minimum kid.”

“Now, mind you, I do have some stipulations.” Albert corrected the eager man sitting at the bar. “While I want to show my guts, as you put it, I’m not doing anything unless you agree to them in writing.”

“I think he’s got more than the bare minimum if he’s trying to deal with us in our own establishment, Liam.” Travis frowned as he spoke. Something about the brazen nature of the negotiation had made him suspicious.

“It’s nothing too daring, trust me.” Albert attempted to wave it off, but even as he did his mind was racing to formulate a strategy as he went.

“Alright, we can at least hear him out. Gimme the, ah, the paper.” Liam held his hand back to Travis and snapped his fingers at the man as he reached down to produce paper and pens from behind the bar. “What are your stipulations, kid?”

“First, I reserve the right not to do anything that involves drinking alcohol on the grounds that I’m underage.”

“Geeze, they start you guys young these days, don’t they.” Travis commented with an exasperated breath.

Albert ignored the comment. “Second, I reserve the right to not participate in any activity which poses a blatant risk of loss of life.”

“They teach em to talk the talk young, at least.” Liam muttered with a chuckle as his hand, pen in his grip, blazed across the page. “But I don’t see any problems with that. Those are both reasonable and not something I had in mind anyway.”

“Don’t lie. “Graham growled. “You were going to have him take a shot of that blasted knife liquor.”

“We don’t carry it anymore, Graham.” Travis said as he lowered his gaze down to the collector. “Not after the French pig that cut you loose said he liked it.”

“Fair play.” Graham assented. “I would have stopped serving it then too.”

“I take it you’re not working for dear old Death anymore?” Liam chuckled.

“At the moment, no.” Graham shrugged. “But benefits are benefits, even if they get served by a pig.”

“You really don’t have any loyalty left in you at all, do you.” Travis muttered in his deep bass voice. “Such a shame.”

“A real shame.” Liam said with a nod of agreement. “But let’s see if your side kick can manage to show some courage to counteract your gutlessness.”

Liam slid the paper across the bar so that it was positioned in front of an empty bar stood. Albert was pointed towards the stool rather than the document, which he sat down on. The crowd that had gathered around made him uncomfortable as he read through the quickly scrawled contract. The language was similar to how Death phrased things in his contracts, or so Albert thought at first. The biggest difference was that this was in pretty clear terms, the legalese was the only real similarity. Everything he had requested was in clear writing, and nothing else had been added. The man had even already signed at the bottom. Albert took note of the name, Liam McClellan, and began to put the pieces together slowly.

“This looks good to go.” Albert hummed as he tapped the bottom of the page against the bar top to level it out before setting it down to sign it with the pen he’d been handed.

Something about the ease of the arrangement made it feel like it wasn’t an actual binding contract. Maybe it was the freshness of the paper that looked like it could have been purchased at an office supply store, or the simple ball point pen that had been used to write it down. Maybe it was the blue ink instead of black that felt off to Albert. That being said, having it down in writing seemed to be a big enough deal that the people gathered around were muttering about it. If nothing else, if Liam went against his word, he’d lose credibility for being underhanded. That thought gave Albert enough comfort to sign his own name and hand the page back.

“Fantastic. It’s always exciting to get things in writing, don’t you think, Albert?” Liam had a wide grin on his face as he read over the signature and handed the page back to Travis.

“It’s a little less thrilling every time.” Albert replied casually. “But I am excited to see what kind of game of courage you have in mind.”

“It’s traditionally a little back and forth.” Liam said with a gentle shake of his head. “I challenge you, you challenge me, back and forth till we’re both satisfied with the guts of the other.”

“And house rules dictate Liam goes first.” Travis added on. “Wouldn’t be any fun without a host advantage after all.”

“And I pick arm wrestling!” Liam announced and was met with a roar of approval.

“That’s—”

Travis was about to object, but Albert agreed before he could finish. “That’s fine.”

Liam excitedly slammed his hand down on the bar and pulled himself up and over to the other side without further argument. As if taken by some kind of frenzy, the large man smashed his elbow to the bar top and positioned himself for the ensuing challenge. And it was at that moment, as he witnessed the crazed look in Liam’s eyes and the excite frenzy of the patrons contrast against the careful and meticulous watching eye of Travis, that a plan began to solidify within his mind.