Simon & Lachlan & Luke | Late Morning | Town Circle
It was an unusual thing, to see rage in eyes that were usually a bit glossy because the person didn't completely comprehend any given situation. And the truth was that Luke still didn't comprehend the situation, but he had come to the only logical conclusion based off what he had been told.
Lachlan really should have just cleared up the misunderstanding. His conscience was saying as much, in a voice that sounded a lot like a blend of Fiona's and Reagan's. But the time for calm discussion had long since passed, if the way Luke was advancing was anything to go by.
Despite the edge of wariness that crept up on Lachlan, he couldn't help the surge of satisfaction at seeing clear proof of Fade's weakening grasp. Not even mention of Teague's strength was enough to dampen the sense of a job well done, and Luke's threat was met with an unafraid grin as Lachlan glanced from one brother to the next.
Luke would need to be knocked down a notch before he threw a punch with the strength of the wind behind it. Simon, though the instigator of this ridiculous argument, could be left alone. If the man could work up the guts to strike a blow, he likely would have caused some pain. But that was a pretty big if.
With all the hissing and spitting the pair were doing, Lachlan thought they could have easily been mistaken for cats, if they weren't so clearly Foxes. Given that Lachlan cared about Teague, he didn't want to hurt the two hopeless cases his friend was related to, at least he didn't until Simon piped up.
Annoyance surged through Lachlan at the suggestion that he had taken advantage of Fiona, but that was nothing compared to the effect of the next cutting remark. It was then that Lachlan realized he had underestimated the unGifted Simon; Luke could have bowled Lachlan over with gale force winds and he still wouldn't have come close to the pain inflicted by the implication that Lachlan was anything like the gods-damned Cloves.
"You don't know what you're talking about," he snarled, seeing red. The words weren't even fully past Lachlan's lips when his hand darted out into the space between them. Not to punch Simon though, or Luke. Lachlan clenched his fist and yanked it back, as if pulling on an invisible tablecloth. And with that move, the grass beneath their feet surged toward Lachlan as he pulled the metaphorical rug out from under them. "I suggest you go speak to Fiona like you did to me, she will do a lot worse than just knock you on your arses."