Re: Bus stop: Misha & Lou
Misha, he wasn't scared none. Ugly or not, dressed how he was or not, a woman being grabbed at or not, he wasn't scared none. He'd lost fear small, and there wasn't no amount of fists or cock that could make Misha quiver, not no more, and that had nothing to do with the fact that there wasn't a thing walking this planet that could harm him. Could be that was exaggeration, but it was how he felt recent. The boy in too much pink, he was invincible, and that was power and youth mingling and leading to this bench right here and at this bus stop.
He knew the men were trouble, though, and make no mistake. He knew their ilk real well, and he briefly watched as the man approaching the woman reached for her. She moved fast, and he grinned some, proved right, and then he turned his head to look at the man that was tugging at him. He was running his mouth, was the man, as men like him tended to do. Slurs were flying in the warm night, clogging he air up with gay hating words, and Misha's upper arm was already blooming with bruises. The man, he tugged harder, and then his face turned to confusion, clear as day broadcasting he was wondering why he couldn't shift a boy that looked so insignificant.
Misha, he put down his fiddle case, and his backpack slipped from his shoulder. Not that either of those things were necessary. Not really. The man, he was just getting himself angrier, and he was spitting furious with it.
Misha, he blew fine hair from his forehead, where it'd fallen messily from the man's hot breath close, and then he just blinked some at that man, pale blue eyes going unnatural bright. The sound of wings fluttering carried on the night, sounding angry and rushed, and the air that came with the sound was warm and uncomfortable, like steam but savoring of ozone. And just like that, the man, he went flying from where he was stood and clear across the street. Misha, he didn't lift a finger, and he just turned to see how the woman was doing. "You doing fine?"