InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "beavers and ducks!"

Eliot Spencer [Leverage] (thatswhatido) wrote in utr_logs,
@ 2010-01-17 00:31:00

Entry tags:

eliot spencer, hardison, peter brown

Who: Pietro, Eliot, Hardison
What: Meeting
Where/When: Manhattan, backdated a couple nights ago when Pietro replied to Eliot's post with something of a business proposition
Warnings: Possible

Eliot had asked Hardison to go with him for two reasons. The first was that he trusted Hardison to keep his back, even if Hardison fought like a girl. But if that was the only stipulation, he could have asked any of the team to go with him. The second reason was that he wanted to get Hardison back in the game, make him feel needed before he had time to second guess it.

They made it to the club relatively easy, and as Pietro promised, the mention of his name was something of a magic code. The two were led inside following a hard stare, which Eliot returned in kind. He led the way, eyes alert and searching, noting the little details as he passed through the club.

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	thatswhatido 2010-01-18 05:33 am UTC (link)
	"Nice doing business with you." Eliot gave a rather blank look, then turned to Hardison. "Let's go, this punk is wasting our time." His words clearly riled Jack, who took a step forward as if he meant to block Eliot's way. Eliot drew the same blank look at him as he'd shown Pietro a moment before. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

thebearclaw
2010-01-18 05:44 am UTC (link)

Pietro finally stood, a hand going to Jack's shoulder just as he was reaching for Eliot. "Jack. Back the fuck of of my guests, got it?" The man shot a harsh glare at Eliot, then a lesser one to Pietro, before falling back against the wall begrudgingly.

"If ten thousand bucks an hour is really wasting your fucking time, you need to take a look at the economy, man. Everybody's taking it in the ass, here." He gave Eliot one last look over- not threatening, just assessing. "Watch who you call a fucking punk. But I can get you your mil, fine. But you better not be wasting my time, then."

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thatswhatido
2010-01-18 08:55 pm UTC (link)

Eliot's back stiffened. If this guy wanted a fight, he'd get a fight. The hostile tones had Eliot's skin crawling, gearing up for it.

"You'll have your shipment back within 72 hours." He shot Hardison a look, daring him to say otherwise. "Let's get the fuck out of here. We'll be in touch," he added with a pointed look at Jack. He was half hoping, and definitely expecting Jack to follow them out to the alley for a more physical confrontation.

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thebearclaw
2010-01-18 09:03 pm UTC (link)

Seeing the look of a man itching for a fight- and not feeling that stupid, himself- Pietro just nodded, moving back to his seat to let Jack follow them out of the club.

Knowing the man leaving behind them was a bad omen, Hardison gave Eliot and the thug a wide berth, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire. One on one, the guy didn't stand a chance; Eliot wasn't going to need his help.

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thatswhatido
2010-01-18 09:12 pm UTC (link)

Eliot definitely did not need Hardison's help, and he didn't want Hardison caught in the crossfire any more than Hardison wanted to be caught there. Once they stepped out of the club and clear of the door, Eliot turned around, the message in his stance clear to anyone, whether they spoke street body language or no.

"You sure you want to do this?" he asked, giving Jack an out, though he didn't expect the thug to take it. He wasn't disappointed, and he was moving forward to counter Jack's first attempt to land a punch.

Eliot wasn't overly impressed with jack's technique. "The hell? Boss man pull you off the street five minutes ago?" Eliot quipped. Though he had a bloody lip and a bruised cheek when it was over, Eliot took Jack down easily, leaving him rolling on his side in the alley.

"We should get out of here before they come looking for him." More for Hardison's sake, than his. Eliot wouldn't have minded taking one half a dozen more, especially if they were as easy to cut down as Jack.

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	nanasaiddont 2010-01-18 09:31 pm UTC (link)
	Hardison, being far more of a lover than a fighter, stood over to the side and waited for the sounds of impact to stop. If his knuckles were a little white on the file, well. He just really didn't like violence. "Yeah, that was smart. C'mon," he headed for the mouth of the alley, working his way back to the street to hail a cab. (Reply to this) (Parent)

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