One day, Strauss took Wesley to a bush
bar called Street where he introduced the latter to some adventurers in the
hood. They welcomed him warmly unlike the Black Axe frat who emphasized cultism
over friendship. In the spirit of the times, members of the Black Axe were the
chief nemesis of the Vikings. They led a secluded existence and loathed
non-initiates with exclusivist arrogance. They wanted all Jewman to fade and,
therefore, would have absolutely nothing to do with non-Sevens. The pioneers of campus fraternities initiated the
organizations with the intention of fostering brotherhood with a demonstrable
commitment to the pursuit of noble ideals. However, sometime even before the
grand conception could realize a full birth, the plan suffered a miscarriage of
sorts, leaving behind its trail a harvest of blood and gore.
It
was at the bar called Street that Wesley first encountered Nappa the Red, a
bloodied, colossal guy of about six and twenty. While he drank a beer sitting
next to Strauss, who had told his family that he, Wesley was a Noron, Nappa the Red was sighted from
a distance. A drunken bagger darted out of the hut beer parlour shouting “make
way! Make way!” as Nappa approached. He was looking into the sky as he
advanced; he wasn’t looking at anybody. When he was close, the others hailed
him noisily. One of them released a gunshot salute and Nappa the Red, Strike
chief of the Vikings, jazzed into the
Bush bar like a big masqueraded. Nappa was a little pot-bellied from binge
drinking and intimidatingly massive in build. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair
was neatly barbed and his jaw was scantily bearded which made it look more like
whiskers than beards. He pinned all
the nautical points at the bar called Street in greeting. He came across Wesley
and they shook hands but not in the manner of fist locking and pinning of
thumbs. It was a rough slapping of palms and a snapping of the third finger.
Yes.
The bar called Street was the kind of place where cultists gathered to while
away time and make merry. This was where they smoked, drank, rubbed minds
together, argued incisively and often disagreed with one another and sometimes,
out of being too possessed with ruggedity and rum, shot and threw one another
overboard. Remember, it was called Street. And in street, anything goes.
Everyone had to be on guard at all times, not only against a rival cult group
but also against a fellow adventurer.
