[It had taken some doing, just to find the sort of place that served under the table - or under their own establishment, as the case appeared to be. Bruce hadn't entirely been for the idea and she didn't blame him, as venues of this nature purported to be the antithesis of a controlled environment, and it therefore took some well-meaning wheedling just to be heard. Laughably anathema to the concept of acquiring something as mundane as liquor in such an inconspicuous manner Evelyn fought the desire to approach the nearest constable to ask about libations, greasing a palm or two instead for the right password to the right place.
It is in this place that they are at present, accessed through some seedy back alley with the code word, down two flights of stairs into an enormous room that she would have sworn was once an enormous icebox. Bustling with booze, jazz, and a wide variety of guests from all walks it appears to be as popular as described and Evelyn very much hopes the Treasury Department doesn't find it this particular evening.
Glittering about as much as the rows of bottles behind the bar counter Evelyn discreetly laces her fingers in Bruce's, pulling him nearer to her as she moves to perch on one of the stools. Much like a Cheshire cat she grins at him, cheek to cheek when she leans in to speak over the music.]
How is it that you live here and never knew about this place, and I've only been in California a week and it took me under an hour to find a drink?
[ The answer dangles on the tip of his tongue. Because I don't go out. Because I don't drink. Because places like this scare me the living daylights out of me. But Evelyn was so pleased with herself, and so happy to be out of the house, Bruce could hardly deny her this. So instead Bruce only smiled awkwardly and hoped the strain didn't show as he answered in kind, leaned in close so he wouldn't have to speak so loudly. ]
Because you're in the habit of uncovering hidden places.
[ He's doing his best to focus on Evelyn, on the curves of her smile and her dress instead of the way his skin crawls at the scent of alcohol. The way his eyes keep trying to flicker across the room for the telltale signs. Someone being a little too loud. Swaggering a little too proudly. A hard look in the face that could prelude a blow.
Part of him wanted to hide. Another part of him berated him viciously. Still acting like a child, what a coward. It had been years, decades, and still his stomach churned. Pathetic, he raged at himself. Evelyn is asking for so little, a night out once in a while — Bruce knows he can't give her everything, but he can at least do this much for her. He can be this person for one night. ]
[He seems stiff and Evelyn attributes this to Bruce's natural tendency to avoid copious amounts of socialising - she respects it, of course, but it doesn't make it any less difficult when she begins to crave the stimulation that only large groups of people can provide. By contrast the exposure exhausts him and he's therefore making a very valiant effort to please her, although they've attended large gatherings before and he's never looked so unnerved.
The smile is reassuring, if only just.]
Take a deep breath, [she tells him gently, almost sing-song, in a practised manner that suggests she has mitigated the effects of busy crowds before. Evelyn squeezes his hand in hers, thumb chafing over his knuckles.] I shan't leave you.
[Imparting a quick kiss to his cheekbone as she pulls away, Evelyn flashes another sunny grin and turns on the stool to hail the bartender with a little wave. Two whisky sours later - he'll barely touch it, she knows, but she's never known why - and the toe of her shoe rests against his ankle, an anchor in the ebb and flow of the room. She lifts her glass and adds, cheekily:]
To Bruce, for graciously allowing me to stay at his flat.
[ In the past, the light of Evelyn's smile and the touch of her fingers to the back of his hand was more than enough to ground him and keep him from slipping out at the first chance. Here, now... It's slightly less effective but he does stay — if only because the idea of being alone in this crowd is even more terrifying than being here in the first place.
He clinks his glass against hers because it's what he's expected to do, but at least the smile warms up into something closer to normal. That much can't be helped as he remembered his last time in Karnak. ]
Like I could do less after, ah. You were as hospitable as you were when I visited you.
[ Of course after the toast, there's the requisite drink. Bruce tilts his glass back and the liquid wets his lips— And goes no farther. Even that is almost too much, the scent of whiskey wafting up to strangle him. The glass is quickly set back on the bar, a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe at his mouth before he mops his brow. ]
[In the past, there was very rarely an occasion to leave dormitory common rooms or research offices in the library. A flask or a bottle of wine would be procured and there was a different level of comfort, a dynamic far removed from the one at present. But the puzzle piece that Evelyn is missing for why these scenarios are so disparate is the same one that belongs to a large quandary, which is Bruce's reservations in general.]
Hospitable.
["Hospitable," as though she had put him up in a tent and invited him over for crumpets in the afternoon. As if she had not been overjoyed to see him, insisting he come to her tent, demanding that he sleep in her bed. Evelyn had been greedy, yes, but Bruce had refused her other things before and did not seem inclined to deny her this.
She pretends not to notice that he's pretending to drink, laughing instead.]
Is that a very polite word for your reacquaintance with my knickers?
[ The sad thing is that Bruce finds himself hard-pressed saying no to anything Evelyn asks him outright, and it's made doubly difficult when she asks for so little. The rest between them has always been tiptoed around for so long that he couldn't imagine it changing.
Of course, that leaves what is spoken all the franker for it and it leaves Bruce sputtering now. Impressive, considering how he can almost spit-take with a dry mouth. The flush pinking his ears crawls down to disappear under his collar as he busies himself folding his handkerchief. ]
It. W- Yes, it seemed like a. The word was fitting. I thought. [ Clearing his throat. ] Given the, uh. The fact that...
[ That people are here and they can HEAR you, Evelyn.
In this moment, he is suddenly reminded of the first he'd ever met her brother, Jonathan, and thinking he'd born little resemblance to Evelyn. But here, now, he's reminded of how quickly and dramatically that was untrue. The shamelessness was striking. ]
[Making Bruce fluster is one of the more innocent and delightful pleasures in life, so easily executed with the right words and the perfect setting, that Evelyn can't resist the opportunity when it is presented to her. He fumbles with the handkerchief, twisting it tighter, and she reaches out to still the senseless worrying. If anyone heard they'd ought to be impressed by him - impressed, she thinks, because Bruce is so sickeningly clever and talented and getting out of the apartment was only one of the reasons for being here.
(Evelyn very much wanted to show him off, because not everyone has such a smart lover.)]
Bruce, [she says quietly, with more care and in his ear. Their cheeks brush again and she gets a marvelous lungful of his cologne, laughing against his skin.] I'm only teasing you.
[Evelyn imparts another quick kiss and leans in so that their shoulders might touch as they survey the dance floor.]
[ Conversely, Bruce feels it much less being put on display than a demonstration of how much higher Evelyn stands above him. She glitters like the rest of the people in the room but brighter, and he's just a drab moth among butterflies. It only serves to confuse him how of all the men like these, she still chooses him to smile at like that and nuzzle close. Not that he's not grateful for the choice but when he doesn't understand something, how can he trust it to keep working? ]
I know. [ A soft exhale that ruffles the hair curling round her ear, and an inhale to match as his eyelids flutter at the scent of her more than the perfume she's wearing. ] You're still very good at it.
[ Things are easier if he stays like this and tries to lose himself in her, but there's the rub. Narrowing the view to Evelyn will relax him and make this easier; not keeping his eyes open means he won't see trouble coming before it's right on top of them. The debate continues in the back of his head — the worry nagging at him while the derision counters that he's paranoid, nothing is going to happen, normal people do this all the time and nobody gets hurt. ]
I wouldn't have let you go alone. [ He can't help the shade of protectiveness in his tone, but it's out now and all he can do is hope she doesn't ask why. ]
[Bruce has never been able to comprehend her attraction to him and Evelyn has never understood why when it seems so blatantly obvious. She makes no secret of her affections and he knows this, their arms pressed together that he might have a stability in the room. Aware of how intimidating events of this nature can be she has no intentions of abandoning him to the mercy of other patrons, as always too conscious of him and his discomfort, her other half getting uneasy as the room sways with motion and sound.]
I wouldn't have gone without you.
[Comes the honest response, which stands as the reason behind the slings and arrows of Bruce's torment, a need to make her happy while being the arbiter of that need. Evelyn is labouring under the impression that he is doing his very best to please her, and she won't take it for granted.]
Besides, I- yes, may I help you?
[Tall and broad-shouldered with a suit as sharp as his jaw, a fellow had set up temporary shop at the bar on her other side as soon as they arrived. At first glance he seemed the respectable type: Ivy League, probable former-football player, well into his twenties and the sort of good-looking that Arrow Collar put in their ads, effortlessly masculine. He was also staring, something Evelyn despises with every fibre of her being, almost as much as having her private conversation interrupted by unwanted attention.
He smiles a slow smile, the sort of expression one expects to see on an alligator in the zoo, and Evelyn grows increasingly impatient.]
[ Aware as she can be, as Bruce allows her to be given how closely he guards himself in this. Any other arena, any other part of him is fair game and he'd offer it up in a second if he thought it a worthwhile gift but this... No, that shame is his own, not to share but to bury deep and keep it there.
He glances aside when Evelyn pauses, expression kaleidoscoping from shy pleasure at her words to bemusement to dread as he realizes the culprit. The man had of course popped on his peripheral but no warning signs were evident, not at the start. But now...
Ah, hell. ]
I couldn't help the wondering, [ the stranger replies, smug and supremely confident enough that Bruce preemptively wilts in the knowledge that a man like that (which is everything Bruce is not, and what a list that's composed of) never goes without what he chooses to want. ] How a pretty little thing like you wound up right next to me.
[ Bruce knows the game this guy plays, knows the statistical certainty that he'll lose, and wants nothing more than to leave the game.
Quietly in her ear as he stands from his seat, all but eager to ditch the playing field to those better suited, he murmurs, ] Evelyn, please, just ignore him. L- We can find another place to sit.
[Quietly and in her ear Bruce requests that they move but Evelyn has already been addressed, dragged into this new conversation so suddenly, and she wears the most saccharine smile she can muster to reproach the interloper for butting in.]
Well, it's really quite simple. [she explains, without deigning face the man, without bothering to get up from her seat.] I was having a conversation and you interrupted.
[Beside her she can feel Bruce's muscles tightening, his forearm touching her elbow, fingers barely grazing her waist. Tense and prepared to lunge out of harm's way, no doubt, which seems silly given how indescribably non-threatening the situation feels.
Until another, different hand slides over her thigh and squeezes.]
A conversation with who? [Mr. Pressed-Suit-and-Tie asks, gathering the fabric of her skirts in his fingers while her jaw clenches, staring over the line of Evelyn's shoulders at Bruce.] Buster Keaton over here? Yeah, I'll bet.
["With whom," Evelyn wants to correct, gripping her handbag in a vise. About to turn and smack the offending touch away with it, she isn't afforded the opportunity: he's found his second prey, reaching over to push at one of Bruce's shoulders with a forceful prod.]
[ Bruce doesn't care about the name-calling or the shoving, even as he stumbles backward from the bar. It's nowhere near the worst he's ever received in either regard and nothing he can't live with. Hell, he would do so happily if he and Evelyn were allowed their leave to call the evening a bust and go home. But Mr. Leyendecker isn't nearly so easy-going as that. Bruce steps close again, ready to at least try and argue if not outright beg off this testosterone showdown to retire to greener and dare he say safer pastures—
Then he sees the hand on Evelyn's thigh groping higher. The tightness on Evelyn's face. The answering leer from this bastard.
A sudden roar rises in his head, drowning out even the loudest of the trumpets until there's nothing but the heart pounding in his ears. Without seeming to take another step Bruce is suddenly in front of the man, left hand jerking him off Evelyn by the lapel as his right plants itself square in Leyendecker's perfectly smug face. Twice. Three times. A wild fury courses through his veins alongside the recoil rippling up his arm, followed by a savage kind of satisfaction at the sight — dazed eyes, a bloody nose, a busted lip over red teeth as he pulls his fist back again.
The world snaps back into place as realization hits just as hard as Bruce had been hitting him. God, he hit him. Shock numbs his hands, letting go of the other man who slides off the bar stool into a heap at Bruce's feet. ]
Oh, Jesus.
[ He can't breathe. He can't— He can't fucking breathe. Bile, sharp and cloying, reaches up to strangle him and he wants to vomit. He staggers backward again, this time of his own volition. The bartender is yelling— Yelling something but he can't hear, the roar in his ears dulled to a tinny buzz. Spinning on his heel, he pushes past the crowd to the door, propelled by the eyes he can feel pricking at his back and the overbearing screaming need to get the hell out of here. He barrels out of the speakeasy into the alley, gulping for air and seemingly getting not a single ounce of it as he shakes himself sick against a brick wall. ]
[Evelyn is steadfastly prepared to slide off of her stool, slip her arm into Bruce's, and vacate the premises for something quiet, sedate, in the night air, but isn't given the chance. At her side Bruce stiffens until something reaches critical mass, until the pressure has built up enough to pop like the top of a champagne bottle someone has shaken. He seems to shudder-step forward with absolutely preposterous speed, tearing the man away as an arm reels back.
Evelyn sees the punch coming just before it hits and her elbow slams into the bar, glasses skittering from the counter and sliding to the floor. Compared to the way that Bruce moves they seem to shatter in slow-motion, shards of glass across the floor as his fist lands in the man's face with deliberate violence. She hears his nose crack and blood sprays as Bruce's knuckles return, hanging in the air after a volley, releasing that once-crisp collar. The offending party slides to the concrete and the band falters on-stage, trumpets fumbling through the keys as everyone turns to witness the carnage.
She can only stare at him.
The consequences seem to catch up with him slowly, and then all at once. Bruce wobbles back, panting, eyes wild in a way she hasn't seen since she witnessed a panic attack of his once before, years ago. The bartender reaches for something under the counter, shouting, and her date scrambles away, pushing through the crowd, up the stairs and out the door.
Evelyn doesn't have to think, shoving a few American dollars at the man behind the bar and practically stumbling over the one on the floor. He needs her. He needs her and she failed him by putting him into this situation and the panic rises in her throat as she shoves through party-goers after the scientist who disappeared like a shot in the dark. She almost trips over him, then, making it through the entrance. Staggered against a nearby wall and dragging the back of his hand across his mouth she hastens to his side.]
Bruce-
[Breathless, panting, she fumbles for a kerchief in her handbag and realises there are specks of blood dotting the front of her dress. Evelyn reaches out to slide her fingers through his disheveled hair.]
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uncalendula) wrote2016-05-01 12:49 am
no subject
It is in this place that they are at present, accessed through some seedy back alley with the code word, down two flights of stairs into an enormous room that she would have sworn was once an enormous icebox. Bustling with booze, jazz, and a wide variety of guests from all walks it appears to be as popular as described and Evelyn very much hopes the Treasury Department doesn't find it this particular evening.
Glittering about as much as the rows of bottles behind the bar counter Evelyn discreetly laces her fingers in Bruce's, pulling him nearer to her as she moves to perch on one of the stools. Much like a Cheshire cat she grins at him, cheek to cheek when she leans in to speak over the music.]
How is it that you live here and never knew about this place, and I've only been in California a week and it took me under an hour to find a drink?
no subject
Because you're in the habit of uncovering hidden places.
[ He's doing his best to focus on Evelyn, on the curves of her smile and her dress instead of the way his skin crawls at the scent of alcohol. The way his eyes keep trying to flicker across the room for the telltale signs. Someone being a little too loud. Swaggering a little too proudly. A hard look in the face that could prelude a blow.
Part of him wanted to hide. Another part of him berated him viciously. Still acting like a child, what a coward. It had been years, decades, and still his stomach churned. Pathetic, he raged at himself. Evelyn is asking for so little, a night out once in a while — Bruce knows he can't give her everything, but he can at least do this much for her. He can be this person for one night. ]
no subject
The smile is reassuring, if only just.]
Take a deep breath, [she tells him gently, almost sing-song, in a practised manner that suggests she has mitigated the effects of busy crowds before. Evelyn squeezes his hand in hers, thumb chafing over his knuckles.] I shan't leave you.
[Imparting a quick kiss to his cheekbone as she pulls away, Evelyn flashes another sunny grin and turns on the stool to hail the bartender with a little wave. Two whisky sours later - he'll barely touch it, she knows, but she's never known why - and the toe of her shoe rests against his ankle, an anchor in the ebb and flow of the room. She lifts her glass and adds, cheekily:]
To Bruce, for graciously allowing me to stay at his flat.
no subject
He clinks his glass against hers because it's what he's expected to do, but at least the smile warms up into something closer to normal. That much can't be helped as he remembered his last time in Karnak. ]
Like I could do less after, ah. You were as hospitable as you were when I visited you.
[ Of course after the toast, there's the requisite drink. Bruce tilts his glass back and the liquid wets his lips— And goes no farther. Even that is almost too much, the scent of whiskey wafting up to strangle him. The glass is quickly set back on the bar, a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe at his mouth before he mops his brow. ]
no subject
Hospitable.
["Hospitable," as though she had put him up in a tent and invited him over for crumpets in the afternoon. As if she had not been overjoyed to see him, insisting he come to her tent, demanding that he sleep in her bed. Evelyn had been greedy, yes, but Bruce had refused her other things before and did not seem inclined to deny her this.
She pretends not to notice that he's pretending to drink, laughing instead.]
Is that a very polite word for your reacquaintance with my knickers?
no subject
Of course, that leaves what is spoken all the franker for it and it leaves Bruce sputtering now. Impressive, considering how he can almost spit-take with a dry mouth. The flush pinking his ears crawls down to disappear under his collar as he busies himself folding his handkerchief. ]
It. W- Yes, it seemed like a. The word was fitting. I thought. [ Clearing his throat. ] Given the, uh. The fact that...
[ That people are here and they can HEAR you, Evelyn.
In this moment, he is suddenly reminded of the first he'd ever met her brother, Jonathan, and thinking he'd born little resemblance to Evelyn. But here, now, he's reminded of how quickly and dramatically that was untrue. The shamelessness was striking. ]
no subject
(Evelyn very much wanted to show him off, because not everyone has such a smart lover.)]
Bruce, [she says quietly, with more care and in his ear. Their cheeks brush again and she gets a marvelous lungful of his cologne, laughing against his skin.] I'm only teasing you.
[Evelyn imparts another quick kiss and leans in so that their shoulders might touch as they survey the dance floor.]
I'm glad you came with me.
no subject
I know. [ A soft exhale that ruffles the hair curling round her ear, and an inhale to match as his eyelids flutter at the scent of her more than the perfume she's wearing. ] You're still very good at it.
[ Things are easier if he stays like this and tries to lose himself in her, but there's the rub. Narrowing the view to Evelyn will relax him and make this easier; not keeping his eyes open means he won't see trouble coming before it's right on top of them. The debate continues in the back of his head — the worry nagging at him while the derision counters that he's paranoid, nothing is going to happen, normal people do this all the time and nobody gets hurt. ]
I wouldn't have let you go alone. [ He can't help the shade of protectiveness in his tone, but it's out now and all he can do is hope she doesn't ask why. ]
no subject
I wouldn't have gone without you.
[Comes the honest response, which stands as the reason behind the slings and arrows of Bruce's torment, a need to make her happy while being the arbiter of that need. Evelyn is labouring under the impression that he is doing his very best to please her, and she won't take it for granted.]
Besides, I- yes, may I help you?
[Tall and broad-shouldered with a suit as sharp as his jaw, a fellow had set up temporary shop at the bar on her other side as soon as they arrived. At first glance he seemed the respectable type: Ivy League, probable former-football player, well into his twenties and the sort of good-looking that Arrow Collar put in their ads, effortlessly masculine. He was also staring, something Evelyn despises with every fibre of her being, almost as much as having her private conversation interrupted by unwanted attention.
He smiles a slow smile, the sort of expression one expects to see on an alligator in the zoo, and Evelyn grows increasingly impatient.]
Well?
no subject
He glances aside when Evelyn pauses, expression kaleidoscoping from shy pleasure at her words to bemusement to dread as he realizes the culprit. The man had of course popped on his peripheral but no warning signs were evident, not at the start. But now...
Ah, hell. ]
I couldn't help the wondering, [ the stranger replies, smug and supremely confident enough that Bruce preemptively wilts in the knowledge that a man like that (which is everything Bruce is not, and what a list that's composed of) never goes without what he chooses to want. ] How a pretty little thing like you wound up right next to me.
[ Bruce knows the game this guy plays, knows the statistical certainty that he'll lose, and wants nothing more than to leave the game.
Quietly in her ear as he stands from his seat, all but eager to ditch the playing field to those better suited, he murmurs, ] Evelyn, please, just ignore him. L- We can find another place to sit.
no subject
[Quietly and in her ear Bruce requests that they move but Evelyn has already been addressed, dragged into this new conversation so suddenly, and she wears the most saccharine smile she can muster to reproach the interloper for butting in.]
Well, it's really quite simple. [she explains, without deigning face the man, without bothering to get up from her seat.] I was having a conversation and you interrupted.
[Beside her she can feel Bruce's muscles tightening, his forearm touching her elbow, fingers barely grazing her waist. Tense and prepared to lunge out of harm's way, no doubt, which seems silly given how indescribably non-threatening the situation feels.
Until another, different hand slides over her thigh and squeezes.]
A conversation with who? [Mr. Pressed-Suit-and-Tie asks, gathering the fabric of her skirts in his fingers while her jaw clenches, staring over the line of Evelyn's shoulders at Bruce.] Buster Keaton over here? Yeah, I'll bet.
["With whom," Evelyn wants to correct, gripping her handbag in a vise. About to turn and smack the offending touch away with it, she isn't afforded the opportunity: he's found his second prey, reaching over to push at one of Bruce's shoulders with a forceful prod.]
Scram.
no subject
Then he sees the hand on Evelyn's thigh groping higher. The tightness on Evelyn's face. The answering leer from this bastard.
A sudden roar rises in his head, drowning out even the loudest of the trumpets until there's nothing but the heart pounding in his ears. Without seeming to take another step Bruce is suddenly in front of the man, left hand jerking him off Evelyn by the lapel as his right plants itself square in Leyendecker's perfectly smug face. Twice. Three times. A wild fury courses through his veins alongside the recoil rippling up his arm, followed by a savage kind of satisfaction at the sight — dazed eyes, a bloody nose, a busted lip over red teeth as he pulls his fist back again.
The world snaps back into place as realization hits just as hard as Bruce had been hitting him. God, he hit him. Shock numbs his hands, letting go of the other man who slides off the bar stool into a heap at Bruce's feet. ]
Oh, Jesus.
[ He can't breathe. He can't— He can't fucking breathe. Bile, sharp and cloying, reaches up to strangle him and he wants to vomit. He staggers backward again, this time of his own volition. The bartender is yelling— Yelling something but he can't hear, the roar in his ears dulled to a tinny buzz. Spinning on his heel, he pushes past the crowd to the door, propelled by the eyes he can feel pricking at his back and the overbearing screaming need to get the hell out of here. He barrels out of the speakeasy into the alley, gulping for air and seemingly getting not a single ounce of it as he shakes himself sick against a brick wall. ]
no subject
Evelyn sees the punch coming just before it hits and her elbow slams into the bar, glasses skittering from the counter and sliding to the floor. Compared to the way that Bruce moves they seem to shatter in slow-motion, shards of glass across the floor as his fist lands in the man's face with deliberate violence. She hears his nose crack and blood sprays as Bruce's knuckles return, hanging in the air after a volley, releasing that once-crisp collar. The offending party slides to the concrete and the band falters on-stage, trumpets fumbling through the keys as everyone turns to witness the carnage.
She can only stare at him.
The consequences seem to catch up with him slowly, and then all at once. Bruce wobbles back, panting, eyes wild in a way she hasn't seen since she witnessed a panic attack of his once before, years ago. The bartender reaches for something under the counter, shouting, and her date scrambles away, pushing through the crowd, up the stairs and out the door.
Evelyn doesn't have to think, shoving a few American dollars at the man behind the bar and practically stumbling over the one on the floor. He needs her. He needs her and she failed him by putting him into this situation and the panic rises in her throat as she shoves through party-goers after the scientist who disappeared like a shot in the dark. She almost trips over him, then, making it through the entrance. Staggered against a nearby wall and dragging the back of his hand across his mouth she hastens to his side.]
Bruce-
[Breathless, panting, she fumbles for a kerchief in her handbag and realises there are specks of blood dotting the front of her dress. Evelyn reaches out to slide her fingers through his disheveled hair.]
Hey. Hey, look at me-