Dodging the Bullet (Open)

Stealth in the past was never one of the Outlaws fortes, though he had always attested it to the fact he wouldn't run like a coward. He was eating those words now. Turns out disappearing quietly was much harder than it seemed as Malcolm found him self tackling people out of his way through the semi-crowded streets as he ran through them at a ragged pace. He was stirring up quite the scene, and the fact that he was still wearing the bright orange prison jumpsuit was only magnifying the attention he drew to himself. 'That suvuabitch Fate always makes this look so damn easy...' he thought to himself as he stopped a moment to catch his breath. He'd be caught again at this rate - what he needed was a place to law low until the authorities were no longer adamantly looking for him.

The old advice from his ex-partner echoed throughout his head making Graves grit his teeth in anger at the memory. He'd never admit it but for all the crap Fate used to spew from that silver tonged mouth of his, he usually wound up right about these kinds of things. He forced himself to focus on the present, knowing if he kept dwelling on the past it'd only frustrate and anger him which wouldn't get him anywhere.

Using the sun in the sky as his guide he began making his way southeast. He knew at the very least that was the general direction he'd have to make his way to get to Zaun, hoping that he'd find a place he could use to hide along the way. Hide...the thought of being put in a position where he'd be so defenseless he had no choice but to run and hide like some coward made the Outlaw want to shoot himself in the foot for letting himself get in this deep. After checking that he still had the guards pistol he began searing for a good place to hide. It didn't take long as he found a tavern...well, at least what was left of one, that would be perfect for him to avoid any law enforcement that would be after him. He crept in as quietly as he could before he heard footsteps coming from the cellar and quickly hid himself so he wouldn't be caught.

He heard the woman say to herself as she enjoyed her drink - he'd have to do something about her. He knew things would take a turn for the worse if she found a man in a prison jumpsuit sneaking around. However, the Outlaw then had a bright idea. If he could get a hostage it could come in hand if things really went south and the cops found him here so he made his way up behind her as stealthy as he could. When he was close enough he tackled her to the ground, pinning her arms under his knees with his only hand over her mouth to keep her from crying out for any help and was about to threaten her in to silence before he paused when he got a good look at her, a mildly confused look of recognition forming on the Outlaw's face. "I know you. Yer' that gal who came struttin' through the cell block that one time lookin' fer' someone...ain't ch'ya?" he asked her, removing his hand from her mouth so she could speak.

"Yeah, a drink would do right by me about now..." he replied to her offer cautiously. "Don't get any bright ideas though, I ain't in the mood to be played fer' a fool right now" he added as an after thought getting up off of her and extending his hand to help her up.

It truly was a small world, after all, what were the chances he'd run into the same woman he'd seen not a few months before when he was still behind bars. He vaguely remembered her even saying she was going to help, which he'd found laughable at the time as anyone else might have. What could she have done to help at that point in time? The Sheriff of Piltover herself had an unwarranted vendetta (atleast in the Outlaws mind it was) against him and he was in a max security facility, not exactly a situation to could be alleviated by some random citizen. Nonetheless here he was with her now, among the willows until he could find a way to get out of Piltover without ending up getting himself roped again by the Sheriff or one of her boot licking peons.

"Don't suppose that help you was offerin' was outstandin', was it?" the Outlaw asked her vaguely after he grabbed himself and Elly a chair. Regardless of her answer he'd lean on her to get what he wanted - no, needed. He needed a place to lay low and help getting out of the city as quietly as possible and she was his best bet at the moment.

"Drop the formalities, it's just 'Graves' understand?" he said with an annoyed tone, washing down a generous amount of the scotch.

"Way I see it you ain't got much of choice now, do ya' - about harborin' a fugitive that is. I can't exactly just let ya' go along yer' merry way, not when I'm fixin' on usin' what's left of yer' place here to lay low till I can get outta the city. In fact, yer' gonna help me do just that" he told her pointedly to answer her question.

Graves then sat down on one of the chairs he had pulled up despite the warning Elly had given him and it seemed to hold his weight. "Chairs seem fine to me" he said nonchalantly with a smirk as he leaned back to take another drink of the scotch she had given him when there was an snap of the chair giving out under his weight before the legs snapped. The Outlaw cried out in surprise as he fell backwards onto his ass in a most comical fashion. Luckily he hadn't dropped the bottle of booze and it was perfectly safe, though he had spilled some during the fall all over his face and shirt.

"Don't say a word..." he said completely unamused at the situation, not that he could hold it against Elly if she did laugh. If it happened to anyone else he probably would've busted out laughing himself. Grumbling about the 'stupid ass chair' he picked himself up handing the bottle back to Elly as wiped his face clean of the wasted booze.

While Elly talked Graves took the bottle of scotch and drank more, he was going to need it especially if Elly was going to be this way the entire time. This woman either didn't really know who she was dealing with or was even more stubborn than he was - and that was saying something. Fortunately he knew there was two theories to arguing with a woman and that neither of them worked, so he listened halfheartedly to her demands. Thankfully they didn't seem to conflict with his own interests. After all, he'd need to lay low a day or so before he skipped across the border for greener pastures. So he let her ramble and make a bit of a fool of herself as he drank his fill of the booze. "I find those agreeable terms, but you ain't goin' nowhere without me" he replied to Elly with an even stare. He couldn't read her mind but Graves wasn't going to trust her to not run off and squeal so he'd keep her on a metaphorical leash until she finished helping him. He then heard her ask one last thing before she quieted down.

"I didn't..." he replied gruffly, leaving the now less than half full bottle of scotch on the scorched bar counter as he poked around what was left of the tavern for anything useful.

"Lady, speakin' plainly I give less than a rats ass about yer' Pa'. Way I figure it though, I can't have you runnin' off squealin' on me n' there's clothes he won't be missin' that I can use that don't scream "escaped convict". Followin' me so far?" Graves explained patiently while he continued to scavenge. His search turned up a dirty and burnt old table cloth that had seen better days. He tore a hole in the middle of it for his head and put it on like a poncho. It would work well enough to hide the prison outfit underneath if he left the building under cover of night.

Things weren't looking up for the Outlaw at the moment and he couldn't help but sigh in frustration at what the situation. He was missing an arm, running around using what was basically a burnt rag as a poncho to try and hide his prison garb underneath. On top of that he was only armed with a meager pistol taken off the corpse of an officer unfortunate enough to be between him and freedom in his initial escape from the Piltoverian penitentiary. All he was working with as far as an escape plan from the city-state itself at the momeny was his very limited knowledge of the layout of Piltover, and a local bartender that would quickly turn from 'good samaratin' into 'hostage' if the worse came to worse. Not exactly what he would call favorable odds, but he had never let the odds stop him before.

"Plans simple, I help you tie yer' loose ends n' make sure you don't bring up anymore along the way. After that you help me get the hell outta dodge n' I figure out things from there. Long as you ain't causin' me no trouble n' listen to me I reckon' we'll get along right as rain" he told her completely skipping over the part where he planned on using her as a hostage if they ran into trouble with law enforcement. He thought it best, ignorance was bliss after all, right? It wasn't like anyone would gladly volunteer to play hostage in any circumstance, and he doubted if she was crazy enough to do it she would make a very convincing hostage anyway.

"So what's yer' name? If you don't feel like tellin' me I reckon' I'll come up with one fer' ya' cause I don't intend on callin' ya' "Miss" the whole damn time."

Graves stood there dusting off his "new" disguise, listening as the woman began what sounded like a rant. He refrained from rolling his eyes, had he known in advance his new "hostage" was going to be so dramatic about things he would've just gagged her and done things his way. Still, he could put up with it - at least he hoped he could. So he let her rant a bit before she introduced herself. A bartender wasn't what he'd expected her to be but it made no difference to him. In the end she was going to help get him out of Piltover one way or another.

With those thoughts in mind Graves politely shook her hand after she finished introducing her self before she began nitpicking at the makeshift poncho he had made, straightening it out like it would make a difference. "I think makin' this rag look halfway decent is a bit above yer' bend Elly" Graves told her after she seemed to give up on the idea having the room fall into silence. Graves let out a relaxed sigh, enjoying the fresh air. Unlike the deafening silence in prison here it was like a comforting lull that made the Outlaw breathe easy knowing that even though he was still in Piltover he was once again a free man.

As Elly mumbled to herself and began writing things down Graves didn't bother to ask what it was she was doing. He figured it was her way of planning or dealing with...well whatever one could call the situation he had forced upon her so he left her to her own devices. Graves paced lackadaisically around the fire razed tavern, trying to occupy himself with something when she asked him to help her lock up her cellar, which he could do easily enough. He'd simply motion for her to lead on to the cellar, figuring after how this all was just thrown into Elly's lap out of his own selfishness silence was the best answer.

After following Elly down into the cellar Graves couldn't help but let out a low whistle after seeing the bountifully stocked shelves. In his mind this cellar was only half a step away from a warehouse as far as stock was concerned. When Elly offered for him to take his pick from the shelves it was like being a kid in a candy shop. Graves had half a mind to try and haul an entire rack of booze out of here with him, but knew it wouldn't be feasable. "If this' yer' way to try n' butter me up it's workin' Elly" Graves said with a grin on his face as he picked a few bottles of whiskey from one of the shelves.

"Sounds to me like ya' don't know how to talk no more..." Graves replied with an uninterested tone while he continued to browse of the endless shelves of liquor. While nowhere on Gragas' level, he had habitually become quite the drinker and was the closest thing he had been to happy in quite some time perusing through the cellar.

After plucking one last bottle of booze from its perch he turned to see Elly gesture towards the stairs in defeat. "What...? Something wrong with the stairs now?"