[ 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
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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-