who: Laurel Lance and Leonard Snart. what: A bar fight with a Lance sister. The usual for Len. where: A Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun complex. when: Evening. rating: PG-13. status: In progress.
Laurel walked into The Desert Flower and looked around speculatively. Her life, if you could call it that given she’d died, had taken a turn for the weird when she'd found herself suddenly in a desert town that was unlike anything she had ever encountered, nothing at all like the Star City she knew and loved. At least Sara was here. She wasn’t sure what she would have done without her sister. It was just so good to be back together. Hence meeting up tonight. At a bowling alley/arcade/bar/medical clinic? Because of course.
It wasn't that she wanted a drink. She'd been down that road and she wasn't eager to revisit it. But Sara liked to and it wasn’t like there weren’t any other things here. She’d heard the cheese fries were awesome. So here she was, early, and knowing Sara she still had a while to wait. She took off her jacket, leaving her in her standard black sleeveless top and leather pants and boots and leaned against the bar. "Club soda with lime," she said, looking around the room. Before the bartender could respond, a scruffy man in a leather jacket inserted himself into her space. Way too far into her space. Great. Because that was exactly what she needed. The hand high up on her thigh was just the icing on the douchebag cake.
"So-" That was as far as he got before she grabbed his hand and yanked it away from her leg.
"No," she said, before any more words could come out of his mouth.
"Excuse me?" he replied, seeming surprised.
"No," she said again, turning to face him, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Whatever it is, the answer is no. No, I don't want a drink. No, I don't want to dance. No, I don't want company. And no, I don't want your hands anywhere near me, so why don't you go somewhere else before I break them."
"Now listen here, bitch-" He grabbed her wrist and she looked down at it for a moment before twisting it with a snap. He barely had time to make a wounded noise before she had him flipped over onto the floor and her boot pressed to his throat. "Next time a woman tells you no," she said softly, "you might want to listen."
Turning back to the bar, she smiled at the bartender. "If I could get that drink now," she said. "Thank you."