Connor Callahan will taste the sun (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} bullet_scrip) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} musingslogs,@ 2011-02-08 14:55:00 |
 |
|||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
What: A very strange reunion
Where: Outside a bar in Redmond
When: Tonight, around 9 o'clock
Warnings: Language, alcohol use, minor violence, and a frank discussion of Connor's gender-bending habits
Once upon a time, Bar 300 had been a peaceful place. It was a Tuesday night, which meant more elbow room at the bar. The place wasn't vacant by any means, but there wasn't a line for the bathroom and the bartender was able to pour a refill before your glass went empty. Personalized bartending was the best part of Tuesday night bar crawls, with a close second being the lack of noisy people. Connor was able to enjoy his drinks in peace, with absolutely no disturbances.
Then that asshole bumped his chair.
That peace that he had been so happy to marinate in disappeared in a flash, charred and scorched by the sudden flare of his temper. He went from sitting to standing in under a second, throwing his fist out as he rose. The other man caught a crack to the jaw, head snapping backwards as Connor lunged forwards, a dog intent on chasing his prey. The man was fast, fast enough to keep most hits from landing heavily enough to cause lasting damage, but Connor wasn't paying attention to that. He was focused on moving, on staying active, on bucking the hands that wrapped around his arms and the arms around his waist. Kicking the air, he lashed foot after foot in sequence as he was dragged to the door.
A hand fisted in his hair, craning his neck back as the cold night air kissed his face. There was a voice in his ear, threatening growls that he couldn't keep straight. It was a question, though, and Connor had one answer to questions he didn't want to answer.
"Go fuck yerself, luv."
The people on the street parted, gasping, as he was flung onto the sidewalk. The crack of his face meeting the pavement made people cringe, certain that something had been broken. Even drunk, Connor knew his face was fine. He lifted his head, reaching up with shaking hands to touch the skin of his nose. He felt a tiny bit of blood, a small scrape you could get from brushing against a doorway wrong. It probably wouldn't bruise the next day. Still, his head felt like it had been split in two. He pressed a hand to his nose, rocking forward on his other hand and both knees like a tripod animal. Letting out a jumble of curses, he shakily began to stand, hoping he could remember how floors worked.